Desolate Gail: Redux
by Zeronova
Summary: The walls of Troy have been blasted open by Kiske, and Troy is as vulnerable as the Seikishidan, but personal conflicts still exist. End of Arc II. Updates periodically.
1. Arc 1: Defenses breached

**_-X- Introduction –X-_**  
- _Desolate Gail: Redux  
- Started on: 5-17-2004 / Posted on: 5-17-2004 / Checked on: 3-7-2005  
- By: Zeronova  
- Chapter 1: Defenses breached_

_- _Text: Third person, Narration  
- _Text_: First person, Thoughts  
- **Text **: Interjection, the Narrator

_Note to Readers: I, Zeronova, am the author of the story. But, the bold typing is not I, it is the Narrator, a character in the story. Confusing sounding? Try to think that you are reading something written by a man in the times of Guilty Gear, and it will make sense. The Narrator is a character in the story (and even has a hidden identity), it is not Zeronova, and this is not a story that infracts on the "Non-story; lists, notes, polls, announcement, and etc" violation. Thank you for your time, and enjoy.  
_

**_-X- End Introduction –X-_**

**Until this day, sometimes I think it was all for naught. Like, what the hell was it all for? Worthless, I say. Guess that's why I'm here now. But, not let's get ahead of ourselves, there's more to my bloody story than meets the eye. Well, maybe not, but I'll tell it anyway, because I'm allowed my damn soliloquy. Not to mention this may be my last one ever, if what plans on happening does happen indeed. So, where to start? I guess I should do this more linguistically, considering I got a little bit of a long story to tell. Third person always was a good way to start, eh? In plus, it'll give a bit more of an edge to it, I think. Before I start, I think I should give a backdrop to my morbid tale. **

**The year is 2175, the hundredth-and-first year in the fight against the Gears. The Gears were made as a helpful invention to mankind, to aid in their progression of technology. Ever since man learned to make things, he's made more. The wheel led to the wagon. Fire lead to blacksmithing. And, then our inventions took a life of their own. All of them lead to death in the end, blacksmithing to swords, fire to guns, and the wheel to the tank, all used in mass death one time or another. Through our years, some things we have forgotten, others live only as myth, but some are still among us.**

**In 2010, mankind found a new scientific breakthrough: magic. It was dubbed that only by old literature and public consensus, but what it really was is simply an atomic anomaly, inherent in every atom in the universe, using part of the magnetic forces between atoms, and those that bind the very fibers of what makes up the atoms themselves. Honestly, I don't know, I'm only a normal guy, but what I do know is what I learned from the Seikishidan codes. I'm getting ahead of myself, so let's back up.**

**After the invention of Gears, at about 2014, by months or a few years, I don't know, but it was soon, all countries used them. Gears are life forms, human or animal, that are infused with excessive amounts of magic into their DNA, altering, or all together changing them into other creatures. They all have one thing in common: they are subservient, like slaves. They have massive power, were controllable, and expendable. Perfect for governments, eh? Well, all of the developers of the Gear project went missing in 2016, rumor being they all went into the Gear project themselves, and it grinded to a halt. The head scientist, Frederick, was the first to go off the deep end, but not much more is known besides that. He is considered the major leader in the Gear project, and our woes commonly go back to cursing Frederick.**

**Well, the world went through multiple economic surges, all good for the next half century, all sorts of great things coming along, and man's creations doing all the things right. In 2073, a new Gear project was started, and was kept out of the political spotlight for one good reason: a prototype Gear was being made. Since Gears are subservient in nature, this project's goal was to make a sentient Gear, one that had all the right stuff, an artificial intelligence, you could say. It was made with the intent to control the subservient Gears from governments to lead armies. They made it, and what a job they did. What was the problem though? In 2074, all of the Gears in the world started a formal attack on their masters, all under the control of, you guessed it, the sentient Gear. This new Gear called itself Justice, after murdering its creators, declared war on humans as a whole, not just because of their injustice (get the name pun now?), but because of their pure uselessness as a race. **

**Enter the Seikishidan. Formed in 2074 when the Gears formally started their attack by totally destroying the islands of Japan, the United Nations gathered together the best and brightest of all of the soldiers in the world, and formed the Holy Order (called Seikishidan as a pet name) to fight the Gears. Kind of ironic that it has such a heavy religious influence, since it is a government sanctioned and run operation. Over time though, the Seikishidan gained a life of its own, no longer held back by governments, and became the force of the humans, the military dictatorship that exerted power not over those it ruled, but over those it was trying to overcome.**

**The year now, 2175, finds the Seikishidan nearing the end of the conflict that has plagued mankind for the hundred-and-first year. Passing the centennial anniversary, the Seikishidan is slating this to be the end of the war. Gear resistance is minimizing, and land taken by the good guys is considerably increasing week by week. Nearly six months ago though, the war was almost ended drastically, the assassination of Ky Kiske almost a success. Who is Ky Kiske, you ask? You're reading this anyway as someone who obviously isn't familiar with us or this world. Maybe my words transcend time, to a place and time where this is ancient history, myth, but there is moral and truth behind this recollection of otherwise fiction of epic proportions. Let's not forget either, that I do not write a perfect biography and history, not to mention I am an author, in a time where books don't exist, which probably justifies my existence more. So, without further adieu, I present to you, the tale of two men, drenched in war, and in blood, to find themselves, and others, and to come to grips with a world not only that they cannot shoulder, but no one can. In the words of William Shakespeare, and the elements so mixed in him that Nature might stand up and say to all the world, this was a man.**

The day was cold, foggy, and an overall shithole. Small fog banks rolled onto the French hills, covering them like a blanket, tucking in the peaceful grass roots to their dirt and the grapes to their bottles, if anyone would've tended to wine bottling anymore. Though, this morning was not one to be taken lightly, for events yet to unfold had the noose yet around the infant neck, waiting to tighten at the slightest.

The Seikishidan headquarters was stationed in France, as it should be, considering the current leader was a Frenchmen himself, though arguably a man or a boy. Built into the hillside of a picturesque small French field, the head quarters was a maze of architectural feats, hidden under the dirt and grass, to hide mankind's last hope. As simplistic as the cross Christ was fastened to, yet as completely intricate as God's plan for man, the headquarters was a building loved by those who made it, endeared by those who stayed in it, and was a symbol for all of humanity to look at for the future. **The year of the story starting is 2174, as opposed to me writing this in 2175**

The only occupant not as amorous to the building would be Quint Darton. Lying silently on the top bunk of the sardined room, he still had the three piece Seikishidan officer suit lulling off the side of his bed, the hangar at the top not being used, but only as an edifice to something unused. The other seven soldiers of the rectangular room, lined with beds on both sides and a small walkway in the middle, all leading to one door on the far left side, had already prepped and left for their day's work. The entire base worked like a family. You got up, you did your services, your daily routines and work, and you were rewarded with food, drink, and the ability to fight for your race. It was clockwork, and all of those here regarded it with the utmost respect, which is why Quint was at such a disposition with the rest of the Seikishidan.

Awake, with his hands behind his bed, he slowly looked at the ceiling of the room. _How many times has it been I counted the dimples in the ceiling? How many times have I turned in the green trimmed outfit of the Seikishidan private to laundry at nights, to wake up with it folded over at the foot of my bed, only detesting to don it again? Ah, fuck it, who cares anyway. Like the big man up there will care. Mr. Kiske wouldn't take his sweet time to punish me for not getting ready, since he sure as hell won't take the time to notice my achievements. Four years, and a private…_

Swiveling his legs to hang off of the side of the bed, Darton looked at the freshly washed and starched uniform he had had for four years. Under the left collar, there was a bloodstain, and the distinguishing rip along the right ankle he received a year ago. It was his all right, and while he had become familiar with it, he had also grown to hate it. The first piece was a pair of white pants, that were insulated, but a denim-synthetic material that was baggy, yet light. A lot of movement was allowed by it, but also gave more volume, so if one was to be attacked by a Gear, more clothing would allow the use of armor underneath, or there would be the ability for the attack to hit only clothing. And, it looked snazzy, to those who designed it anyway.

An undershirt was near required, but not law, but above that came a long sleeve white trench coat, with black lining on it. Buttons up the middle, the same insulation that kept warmth in, but wasn't too hot was in this piece of clothing. Above the trench coat came a half-robe that seemed like it was descended from a monk's of the old days, before the Holy War, and before the industrialization of man. And, it wouldn't be too far off to trace that descent either. On top of this, came a large cloth that snapped onto this half-robe, and draped between the legs, held securely by a belt, that came over the trench coat and mid-garment. The mid-garment's main use was to specify rank. It was lined in black with a colored patch filling in the middle. Green for private, orange for lieutenant, purple for corporal, red for sergeant, and finally, blue for chief. There was only one chief of the Seikishidan, Ky Kiske.

The outfits had a respective ranking to them because of their being color coded, like the old days with the pins and medals, but this made it simpler, and easier to identify bodies on the field. Speaking of, the mortality rate as a Seikishidan officer was one in eight per month, meaning that in a total year, not one dorm had a single occupant that originally was stationed there usually. **Not good incentive to join, eh? But, as soon as boys turned 16, they joined the Seikishidan, and most went to boot camp at 10. The world was run by the war, as it was the only thing that the world had left.**

Quint slowly put on each garment, feeling the texture of it he knew so well, which was such a nuisance to him. His long brown bangs were tucked into his shirt as he put on the final piece of the suit, and then ran his hands along his face upward, relieving them of their prison under his collar. They danced under the jerk, and finally settled sweetly in front of his eyes. He could see perfectly through them, but no one could see his own gaze through the shield of hair he had accumulated on his face. He was clean-shaven, and kept the back of his head well kept, but he let his bangs grow out to well over a foot of brown hair in the front.

A mark of rebellious society, or maybe he just liked it that way, that's how it was. In the middle of his head was a small widow's peak that kept the bangs from growing intensely in the middle, so he naturally had a part in between both of them, but asides from that half inch of separation, he kept his face covered by the invading bangs, like a brown, hairy facemask.

Under his bed were a set of lockers that four of the eight occupants used, and the other four were on the opposite side of the room under another person's bunk. He pulled out his sword slowly, jumping back up to the raised bunk, blade in hand. They gave every recruit their own sword that was manufactured off an assembly line, color-coded to their rank, but all of them were identical. Just under the blade, in the hilt, was a small portion coded to the rank, and inscribed with their name. Q., Darton read his. He removed the sheath, a metal tang reverberating in the empty room, footsteps outside impervious, as usual. _Busy bees out there. _

The blade was in one piece, but hardly. It had been battered, busted, dented, cracked, and everything else. How many battles in the subsequent four years had his good ol' buddy been through? How many drops of Gear blood have stained the steel? Yet, it was still as reliable to Quint as the day he got it, but it started to show its signs of age every so often. He tucked it into the side of his belt, as Seikishidan dress code allowed, and then reached into his locker again, pulling out an heirloom. A small trinket that was only wrapped in a brown cloth was what could be seen, and he kept it hidden from all of his roommates. He held it tight, brought it to his forehead, and closed his eyes. **For the sake of literary mystery, I'll keep the secret until the opportune moment.** Replacing it to the former place of secrecy between the boards under the floor of his locker, he promptly shut it and walked out the door.

Meeting him was a high noon sun, drowning in from the top of the Seikishidan building, that was secretly built into the side of a hill, the only real distinguishing mark would be the sky roof, which was ground level, and made of reinforced steel beams and six inch glass. The side of the hill was steep, over three hundred feet of slope with less than 50 feet of horizontal change. The only exit and entrance was a well-conceived cargo door that was big enough to move trucks through (despite few of them even existing anymore, all in use by the Seikishidan as it would be). Both humans and Gears knew of the base's existence, but where was very secret, as the architecture would elicit the air of being classified.

In the complex was six floors, respectively labeled Floor A through F, A being the lowest, and F the highest. They were all interconnected with elevators and stairwells at each end of the floor, which were about a mile and a half from side to side. Not very practical, but there could be no construction on the base, as it was already going on twenty-five years of age, and it would stick out like a sore thumb. Quint currently resided on Floor C.

The floors had about 20 feet from the walls to the railing on each floor, as each had connecting bridges to each side of the floor every 200 feet or so, but besides that, there were large gaps between each side of every floor, leading all the way up to Floor F, with the sky roof square in the middle of the horizontal and vertical measurements of the floor. Each level was cookie cutter like the next, and looked like an ant colony, soldiers scurrying across and around and back. The halls were wide enough on each side of the floors, and the iron railings were sturdy in the 10 inch cement of each floor to keep them from falling off. Each floor had its own special attraction, always built at the north side of the level, near the elevators and stairwells. Floor D had the cafeteria, and according to the large clock embedded into the wall, he was about an hour late for breakfast.

Slowly, he walked down Floor C, soldiers passing him without a care, only focused on what they should and need to do, for God, for humanity, for Ky, whatever reason. It was all repetitive bullshit that they did for reasons galore, ones Quint lost sympathy for. Speaking of God, every level had a small cathedral, and every Seikishidan soldier was given a Bible with their clothes and sword. Quint never cared to open his though. God had no bearing on him, or his life, and belief or lack there of wouldn't change that.

"Sir, I think you need to see this." A red sergeant said, handing Atlas a few papers. Ky looked up from his papers on his desk to see the new ones. He was currently situated on Floor F, a small office room of his own, with a secretary of his own, which was nearer to the emergency elevator that doesn't exist in the architectural plans, built specifically for the commander of the Seikishidan. Ky was only 16, but he had the look of a chiseled man on his face.

"These are?" he asked sternly, admonishing the sergeant for bothering him.

"Reports, sir, of the perimeter defenses. Sir, they've not reported in for over an hour."

"That's not good. What do sentries see?"

"Half are not responding, and the other say the fog blanket is not making it easier." The soldier gave Kiske the answers like a machine, never looking into his eyes, as that was taboo in the Seikishidan. Never look a superior officer in the eyes, it was bad luck, rude, and reproachable by demotion. Not to mention Ky was widely regarded as the next coming of Jesus by many, so he had an imposing aura no matter whom he was with.

"So, what does intel think this is?"

"They have not yet been informed."

"Well, go inform them and bring me their report." Ky said monotonely, but with force.

"Yes sir!" the soldier said, saluting, and taking the manila folder with him. Ky sat back into his chair from his taut position, sighing out.

"I wonder what this is all about…" he said, expelling his lazy breath, stretching his arms. The office room was lined with a beautiful alignment of weapons, polished to shine like Pharos, and edged to cut even the armor of Hephaestus. His hand found its way to his face, rubbing his eyelids with the rough fingering of the Seikishidan gauntlets. Another part of the Seikishidan standard outfit was a pair of padded gauntlets, made of a form of anti-shock ballistic plastic that was resistant to even a sword, and had padding on the inside, and was kept on by three leather belts on top of it. Ky's polished his nightly, as well as his boots. Keeping up the leader of the world wasn't easy, especially aesthetically._ I don't think this is going to be a good day._

"Kliff, I could really use you sometimes…" he sighed again. Suddenly, his door burst open again.

"Sir! Intel has given me their response!"

"And?" Ky asked somewhat annoyed by the sudden intrusion and effrontery of the sergeant.

"Gears, sir! Massive attack!" Ky jumped out of his desk, his chair being thrown against the wall, his hands slapping onto the polished oak desk.

"Here!" Ky screamed.

"They took out the sentries and watch towers at the twenty mile markers, and that was over an hour ago, they could be here at any minute!" the sergeant gasped out. He was flustered, obviously scared of the information. Ky's breath escaped him like he was sucker punched in the gut. He sat back in his desk, silent for a moment, eyes seeing past the walls, the soldier, and completely zoning out. _Kliff...I could use your help._

"Get out of here and get the horns blowing!" Ky screamed hesitantly, regaining his breath. The soldier jumped out of the door, dropping the manila folder, then returned a second later.

"Sorry, sir! Permission to be excused?" he asked, gasping.

"Go!" Ky yelled, snatching his own weapon off of the corner of the desk. Before he proceeded out of the room, he had to catch his own breath again for the third time.

"Gears…here…" he rasped. "Jesus, help me now…" he cried under his own breaths. He took a few more gasps, and stood up straight. _Time to face destiny, whether or not I'm prepared._ Well, never was David without his Goliath, and never was Ky without another face in his own too, pursuing him to jump another hurdle, proving his worth for the job he had. Sometimes, it wasn't that the job itself was the problem, it was that the world he had to shoulder. Like Atlas, he was doomed to hold the world on his shoulders, and should he fail, it would teeter, and fall, and roll away into the midnight, never to be seen again. _Time to put on your game face. Stern, serious, no crap attitude, and do it with the panache Kliff had._

He strapped the Fuuraiken onto his belt, looking forward out of the door, but not at anything. _Well, never a dull day. This is going to be a bad day though, I can feel it. Please, God, do not make it too bad._ Ky smashed the alert button on the wall, the precautionary warning glass long since removed by Kliff, smashing it decades earlier in a situation similar. The Seikishidan was old, but Ky was young, yet had to settle into the position of something so vast at the age of sixteen. So far, he'd done well, as most troops would say, but some still detested having a kid lead them to battle. Today would be a great stepping-stone to gain some of that appreciation, especially since he was only appointed 2 months ago.

Sirens jumped out of the walls, wailing their loud bleating cries, and red flashers throwing their signs over every surface they came into direct line of. Ky ran down the stairwells with the rest of the scrambling soldiers. He could hear their murmurs over the sirens, at their amazement of Ky Kiske being next to them, or their sheer amazement he would be using the same method of transportation that they were. He was something more than human to even his own soldiers, and he could feel their uneasiness, even despite a full-scale alarm jarring them enough.

Finally, he arrived in the swarm of bodies to the main entrance hall, in front of the rows and rows of large steel doors, each measuring about sixteen feet in width and twenty feet in height. In all, there were twelve doors, spread out twelve feet from each other, a plain cement ramp leading to all of them, and arrows painted on the ground, fading from years of use and cheap paint that was scraped together in the deficit of everything during the Crusades. **The current war was nicknamed the Crusades or the Holy War because of the Seikishidan's religious alignment, and the enemy being Justice.**

The soldiers filed into their lines. The red sergeants in front, the orange lieutenants behind them, and then the green privates. The ten thousand men strong lined up in desperation, all of them were either in the middle of a same-day-same-routine act, or still sleeping. The first few lines of red tailored soldiers, their middle-colored cloth lined in black and filled in with red, and the rest of the uniform as white as everyone other's. Ky surged through the disheveled soldiers, pushing through those he could, and all out hugging the wall to get by. He needed to get to the front of the group, and get in front of the mass to brief them. After tackling his way through the running and confused soldiers, he got to the front of the huge mass of denizens, all of them noisy as could be, especially because of the echoing cement room.

Once his presence was realized at the front of the mass, they all silenced themselves fairly quickly. Ky jumped up one of the cement ramps to the steel doors to the outside, standing on what seemed like a podium above others, this time physically, instead of only symbolically and mentally.

"Silence!" he yelled, quieting the last few confused soldiers. Looking out over the mass of soldiers before him, he took a few moments to speak, the echoing sirens in the background giving an eerie sound to the deafness in the filled cargo room. Ten thousand heads, and he knew this was going to be a bad day. How many would he see at the end of the day?

"I'm going to be very honest with all of you. This is going to be a bad day." Well, at least that was off of his chest now. "Gears are coming for us, they'll be here at any moment. They killed the sentries silently in the fog outside, and are closing in from any direction at any moment. This is the only way in and out, so we need to stand our ground here." A hushed murmur made its way through the crowd, fear spreading like an electric virus among them, shooting from one to the next, inspiring fear.

"They may have thousands with them, hundreds of thousands, and we may be outnumbered, surprise attacked, and we may not even have the weather on our side, but we do have one thing. We have God!" He screamed, stabbing his own sword into the air defiantly, to the Gear hordes waiting however many feet or miles from him. Moral speeches were something Ky had picked up from Kliff, but Kliff was a much better speaker. In retrospect, Ky even found his own speech corny that day, but of that day, maybe that was the only thing he could recollect not being bad. He could tell his own words were contrived, and trite, somewhat worthless, as the stirring crowd, restless and afraid in front of him suggested.

"This is ridiculous" Quint whispered under his breath, hundreds of feet from Ky. "Look, big mister leader kid thinks we should fight for God. And the Gears are going to come here, and they're going to try and kill us." He said sarcastically.

Ky finally sighed out, letting his frame come down from its taut and authoritative stance. "I can tell some of you are afraid, others are feeling comedic, but let me assure you of one thing. You all will not live this day. Justice has been increasing his resistance lately. You all know of Lyon's recent invasion, and the Seikishidan branch there being destroyed, all of the soldiers there murdered. For what reason? If we die here, to what extent are our lives lost? I'm not going to give you the hoops to jump through that speeches usually entitle. I'm not Kliff, and I can't replace his absence, or his eloquent speeches. I'm going to tell you what I think. If we lose, humanity is lost. This very well may be the reason God has put you on this planet today. Not a very dramatic or flash of glory way to go out, but this is a battle to remember. When we win, and we defeat Justice, our children will look up in encyclopedias, and look up this date at when Justice lost his attempt to crush humanity, and when we overcame the odds, and lived!" he said, rallying more morale. Ky always was a speaker, among other things, not giving himself as much credit as he deserved. He was fine-tuning his speeches, but this would be a good speech to be remembered by, if his assumptions of this new threat, barely ten minutes old, were as much a threat as assumed.

"I am not ready for this battle, nor are you exactly. I don't care if you don't like me right now because I am the new leader of the Seikishidan. Yes, I am child. Yes, I am inexperienced. But, today, we prove we are men. I fight beside all of you, not only as the leader of the Seikishidan, but as a man among you. So, fight for me, as well as yourself, and we will win. No Gear, no creation, Godless abomination will rob of us of our lives and our souls, those are things God gives us. And what do we do with them? We use them to carry out His will. This is the meaning of them, so help me in this battle, not only as your leader, but as a man." he said in his final hurrah from the crowd. The morale was built up sufficiently, and it was time. Ky didn't exactly like the things he was saying, it wasn't his nature. He was nicer, and still a child, so these things he was saying and doing were direct descendants of what Kliff placed upon him, and what he had to do, rather than was able or wanted to do in the world. Turning around, he grabbed the bottom of the metal rafter door, and threw it open, the morning sun shining into the room, and a golden silhouette on every head. Ky, silhouetted by the melting sun, ran forward into the slow mist that invaded its way into the Seikishidan headquarters. The soldiers burst forward, opening the rest of the doors, running out, swords drawn, to meet the enemy.

**_-X- Author's Notes –X-_**  
-Zeronova's Notes:  
-Well, this is going well. This is going to be every Monday a new update until I finish it, and I am pretty sure that I will not leave this to die, as I did the original. This is a version of the original, with a lot added on. Think of it as a Twin Snakes of Desolate Gail, as MGS did on the Gamecube. Anyway, next Monday, May 24th, we'll see another chapter.  
**_-X- End Author's Notes –X-_**


	2. Arc 1: Testament on the battlefields

**_-X- Introduction –X-_**  
_- Desolate Gail__ Redux_  
_ - Started on: 5-17-2004 / Posted on: 5-24-2004 / Checked on: 3-7-2005  
- By: Zeronova  
- Chapter 2: Testament on the battlefields  
__  
- _Text : Third person, Narration  
- _Text _: First person, Thoughts  
- **Text **: Interjection, the Narrator**_  
_**_  
**-X- End Introduction –X-**_

Kiske, holding his sword toward the ground, sprinted forward, seeing the red eye of a Gear piercing the fog, running at him, the body only partially able to be seen, limping in the animalistic stagger forward. Screaming a feral cry, Ky brought his sword forward from the fog, small jolts of electricity jumping from the ground to the fog, illuminating it, and then piercing through the spongy skin of the unnatural enemy. A vertical upward slash ripped the Gear into two; both cleaved halves falling to the ground, the fog surging upward, then settling back around the body, as if to hide it from God's eye. Bringing the Fuuraiken above Ky's head, his right hand holding it firmly, his left reaching out in front of him to the shaded horizon, he heard the slow patter of the soldiers behind him, their war cries echoing around him like ghastly sonnets.

He heard a lot of noises, but could not pinpoint a single one. As he held his left hand out, waiting another enemy, his right hand holding the blade to smite the next one, he saw none. _Only one Gear? Impossible_. The rest of the Seikishidan came up behind him, settling on a line with him, spreading out on both sides of him as far as he could see, none of them stepping a foot beyond where he was. They all panted, weapons drawn, adrenaline rushing. Reduced from humanity to feral battles between man and animal over life, using simple blades and tools, it was ironic, looking back. Humanity fought against their biological enemy, the inhuman Gears, yet fought as animalistically and inhumanly as possible to retain that trait.

The breaths of the soldiers spread out in front of them in the cold afternoon, dispersing into the lowered atmosphere. A few murmurs spread about them, asking where the Gears were, what they were doing here, and so forth. Then, a similar grunt was heard across from them. Except, this time, it was animalistic, a grunt, a growl, a squish of a Gear stepping forward. Slowly, the army stepped forward out of the mask of fog, standing even on their own playing field, looking at Ky and his men. It might have looked like a game of chess from above, but it was anything but down on the ground. Both of the forces, lining up parallel to each other moved, just staring straight forward at the enemy at hand.

Ky's eyes shifted from the enemy lines, back to his own, scanning the horizon. The eyes of the Gears were lifeless, unmoving, dull, and glazed over. Alpha Gear Justice had control of the abstract creations, the genetic mutations being controlled by the puppeteer, whom which was regarded immortal, squaring off again against the young child of the Seikishidan, whom seemed all too mortal, fighting for the true immortal. The beasts breathed heavily, the husky bodies moving with each breath took in, and shifting greatly with each breath let out. They were beasts in nature, their own genetic code infused with the magical alterations from wolves, bears, humans, all sorts of animals, to become the lifeless soldiers.

Some retained the human qualities, such as hair and upright posture, wielding rusty weapons forged by unskilled hands, and others had elongated nails, sharpened to a razor, and teeth that were as effective in primal times as now. On the opposite line, all of the soldiers were equipped with their standard broad swords, except for Kiske, holding his holy sword, Fuuraiken. How unholy his weapon was in his crusade of holiness against the unholy. A distant thunder rumbled along the fog, each of the sides silent as death.

"Good to be alive" someone said. Ky stood up a little from his battle position at the voice. From the mobs of Gears, the endless numbers drifting off into nothingness in the gray vapor, came one figure that was different. He was human looking, and floated above the ground with a ghastly exuberance, a duality in his persona and voice assuring he was anything but human.

"Testament…" Ky whispered under his breath.

"How will you fare today, human? I guess we'll see within the next few moments, won't we? Don't die too quickly, boy, my master would like to toy with your carcass before throwing it into Hell!" the Gear Sergeant said, a dual voice of human, and then an unearthly wicked one, layered one on top of another. He wore a black leather top with brass clips on both sides. It cut off at the top of the abdomen to reveal his pale skin, and his right shoulder was barren, as opposed to his left, which had a large draping leather sash draping down over the arm down to the wrist. His long, equally black hair draped down to his waist, and over his eyes, but the red bloodiness of them pierced through the hair to be visible across the hundred yard plus expanse between Ky and Testament. Wearing a dress-like garment on his lower body, lined with brass buckles on the cut up the right side, his right leg was visible all the way up to his hip, pale as death, as his chest was. The garments were reflective to their surroundings, but cast an eerie nihilism onto them from the respective dentate charisma.

"I'll be sorry to disappoint Justice then, but he will die by my blade long before he will ever have my head as a prize!" Ky yelled in anger back.

"So be it, human." The Gear spoke lowly. Taking his left hand, he brought his index finger to his right palm, and dug into his skin, enough to produce a single drop of blood. He held his hand out, this drop of blood descending into the fog. Before it totally disappeared in the four-foot-fog, a scythe formed out of the crimson, and rose like being controlled by a lute into both of his hands. The scythe edge was near the ground, and he knelt forward, the black leather he wore swiftly jumping back off of his bones as he dashed forward. The fog parted for him as he floated above it, the unnatural mar like butter to the searing hot cleave Testament held. Bringing the scythe above his head, he poised for attack. At the same moment, Ky dashed forward, the Fuuraiken trailing in the fog, leaving a wake of flittering blue flashes jumping about the fog, keeping his chest low to the ground, to gain speed. As they did, both of their respective armies ran forward behind them, like in the wake of a wave from a boat. The space between both warriors slowly lessened as they both sped towards each other, one fighting for God, the other for Justice, and neither for themselves.

Their blades met with ferocity, the loud twang echoing throughout the battlefield, like a mold for the next wave of slashes, stabs, screams, grunts, and every other sound of death that accompanied the battle. Moving outward from the center feud between Ky and Testament, the line of conflict was drawn straight down, a Gear to every Seikishidan. **In literature and entertainment, fighting is always perceived as an action to define a man, as Ernest Hemingway said, an author from three centuries past. The dramatic hero fighting the despicable evil bad men who have come to kill them, so they fight a glorious fight. Reality plays out much differently.**

Though the day was early, the mist was cool and impervious to the shuffling feet and bodies being laid down into it. Every breath by every human came out in a puff of steam, enlarging with every inch rising, losing its denseness to become more vaporous for every hand length it rose above grasp, till it was only a ghost above their body, the steamy breath carrying with it their last thoughts, emotions, and drifting up beyond the battlefield. Slowly, their breaths increased, sweating and fatigue coming to those weak early, and then some of the breaths indeed carrying off a ghost from the last breath of the cold body, laid to a grave unseen by those who tread above it.

Ky's initial dash at Testament resulted in a tremendous bash of both of their weapons, Ky flying forward toward the Gears more, and Testament toward the surge of Seikishidan. Digging his heel into the soft ground, Ky turned about face to attack the Gear Commander again. The floating menace slid on top of the cover of fog, the clouds billowing to his feet, which grazed the top delicately, like a figure skater. Blowing the delicacy to bits, he dashed forward at the human, the fog displaced high into the air to only vaporize and leave a small crater in the cool mist, soon filled with the dripping brethren gray around it, like hot wax covering its wounds.

As Kiske came closer to the pale enemy, he brought his unholy blade above his head as he ran. When he was about five feet from him, he jumped into the air, both of his feet off the ground and both hands firmly on the Fuuraiken. A blue light, as pale and deathly as the fog, but of a different hue, emanated from the sword's blade, like a candle in cobwebbed hallway. Blue sparks jumped off of the blade, found their way to the ground and fog, running along the leather fingerless gloves Ky had on, and down the side of his arm, jumping like excited children, never satisfied. As he brought his blade down, a large surge of electricity followed, a blue crescent being left in the wake of the blade, like a lingering shadow of the slash he has just executed.

Testament dodged with the speed of an animal, a small jump to the left. His blood scythe came up from his ankle in a diagonal slash at the young Atlas. As soon as the Seikishidan leader landed from his jumping slash, he quickly rolled to his left, dodging the bloody slash of the scythe. Something caught in the side of his eye, but he didn't pay attention, since there were thousands of people out here. His left hand was in the dirt, his fingernails crushing deep into it, both of his knees in the soft clammy dirt, with his right hand holding the Fuuraiken defiantly at the sky, the electricity brimming off of it like it was a predestined edifice to God and the sky, as if Quetzalcoatl itself was embodied into the sword which freely emitted electricity in the hands of a user who could use it for what it was, also known as Ky Kiske.

Ky jumped up from his kneeling position, bringing his sword across from right backside across in a horizontal slash forward, his left hand snatching the hilt as he did, gaining more power in his arc. As he did one horizontal slash to his left, he quickly followed in succession to a right-swinging one, to another left one, the Gear dodging under, jumping over, fading backwards, floating like a butterfly around the sword. After the third failed attempt at making contact with the Gear, Ky stopped his barrage, regaining his defensive stance.

"You're quite skilled, Human. Kliff taught you well."

"Yes, only it's a shame that you are not in my position now, as you should be." Ky said malevolently, holding his sword above is head in his right hand, left held out to his enemy. His feet dug into the soft ground, hidden by the moist cloud on the ground, his left foot pivoting off of the toes constantly, waiting to jump, dash, dodge, or whatever he needed. His right foot was rooted to the ground as irremovable as the foundations of Ky's religious sentiments.

At the current advent of Ky's words, Testament's attitude changed. The mellow, decisive Gear Commander, slowly fell down to the Earth, relinquishing the floating prowess he exerted previously, his eyes closed, and deep breaths coming in and out of his nostrils. When he reopened his eyes, they were more lifeless than before, searing red, like a cauldron boiled behind his retinas, and the unblinking death stare, devoid of life or recognition returned. Justice just reassumed full command of his body.

"Too long have I waited for this, boy. Too long have I been controlling minions through battles to destroy your organization. Lyon was no match, and now I have you, and with your death, I will kill your entire filthy fucking race." Testament sneered, the duality of his voice still there, but the second voice being a female one, highly mechanized, and very imposing. So, the two pivotal characters of the battle fought on, both their attire and weapons singling them out.

Bodies piled around the circle which they constantly dueled, clashing weapons and dodging with poetic brilliance. The bodies of both of the forces found their ways under the mist, impaled by weapon, slashed by claw, blood splatters lining the unseen Earth, and pools staining the moist Mother crimson. No wind whistled through the dense packing of the bodies, no sun pervaded the shielding clouds, and no ground was to be seen. Like a clash of the titans, this battle had its own nature to it, and the direction of its inevitable outcome.

Ky jumped backward on his heels from an attack from Testament, the scythe leaving trails of blood dripping in mid air, that seemed to bleed straight from the pulsating blade, seeming nearly alive, in the morosely evil, Satanic fashion. Nothing purely made it evil, the crimson color to it, the living architecture of it, the blood it secreted, but what it _was_ simply made it evil, undoubtedly, to Ky. As soon as his feet got hold in the flocculent ground, he jumped forward again, his left hand out first, as if to grab something, his right bent at the elbow, his blade nearly touching his face, getting ready to stab forward. His foot impacted the ground, a soft puddle splattering up onto his boots and trench coat, the red blood of his fallen comrades staining his own attire in red droplets.

The next step he took, he heard a massive _kroop_ and was held firm in his place. A large, massive net of blood seemed to evaporate out of the air, snatching him to it. The blood from Testament's scythe had good use after all, a trick. Ky lunged his right hand out of the netting, and brought his sword down into it near his left, burning the tendons to a crisp of the net, and freeing his hand. As he did, the net seemed to disperse into the day, ashes falling to the ground, lined with the orange tint of the burning that covered and consumed them. The pieces of gooey bloody net left on Kiske's gauntlet also turned to ash and blew away in a solitary breeze, upward into the air, never to be seen again.

"What magic heathenry is this, Gear?" he shouted, looking around for his nemesis. He was nowhere to be found, but his dual voice could be heard through the clashing swords and scream of death on the battlefield.

"There is no need for this fight to continue, I'll see you in Hell, boy!" the voice lingered on, the dissipating scent of decay from Testament being quickly voided out by the repugnance of death. Ky had no time to waste, as a soldier Gear jumped at him from his side with a vertical slash. Quickly, Ky put his sword up to his face in a horizontal position, the blade clanging onto his, the orange sparks flying off into the air, sizzling into nothingness in the damp fog. The massive strength of the impact and the brute size of the Gear forced Ky down to his knees, holding his sword in both hands, trying to keep the massive enemy's blade on him.

The Gear's contorted face had only one eye, the rotting skin falling off of the bone, and the red eye looking about inadvertently. The genetically enhanced muscles bore down on Ky, the blade stifling into his own. He took his left hand off of the grip, and held it on the far edge of the blade, pushing on his enemies, which was interlocked with his. The Gear growled and jumped forward, pushing further onto Ky, a bit of slime dripping from his broken jaw that sat out of place, the teeth inside grotesquely overgrown and sharpened to a fine point. Rags of clothes and rotting skin hung on the Gear like a proud medal, every time he moved, they swung.

Ky's head was going under the fog, as the Gear pressed down harder on their interlocked swords, almost entirely on top of Ky. The Gear growled a feral hiss of enjoyment at the sport of the kill, and Ky was running out of time. His first idea was to overpower the Gear with the sword lock, but it seemed he underestimated the Gear, superbly. _Think Ky, think!_ _Got it!_ Ky quickly switched his left hand back to the grip of the sword, and the force from the Gear's pushing down was suddenly changed, and it slid right off the edge of the sword, stifling a little in its stance. As Ky did, he rolled to his right side, the Gear stumbling to the left, and in one long arc of a swing, Ky took off the Gear's ankles. A loud scream of agony, sounding like nails on a chalkboard, glass being cut into by a diamond saw, metal scraping against stone, all of those and none of those at the same time emitting the unholy mouth of man's creation. It fell to the ground, the rough rusted sword alleviated from its grasp by a firm kick from Ky as he stood.

Imperialistically brooding over the now useless Gear, Ky brought the Fuuraiken up, pointing the tip of the blade towards the ground, and above the Gear. In one swift motion, he stabbed downward, piercing the rib cage of his enemy, and his blade finding its way into the moist dirt. Clawing to the sky, the Gear died quickly thereafter, the red glimmer in its eyes losing the ferocity, and dying, like throwing dirt on a fire. Kiske removed the sword, and swung it in an arc around him, removing the globules of blood, and turned to face his next enemy and leaving a whisking electric current in his wake, to the hiss of the approaching enemies on his back. Above the heads of the Seikishidan soldiers were mingled the disgusting heads of the Gears, all shapes sizes and forms of then. As far as the eye could see he looked, fog hiding their numbers, but from what he could see, their outlines drawn out from their running stride out of the cloud, there were too many.

**I'm getting ahead of the story. I think I may have confused you, good reader. Swords of lightning, scythes of blood? Testament and the Gear hordes? I'll give you a bit of back-story before I continue the story, to quench your query. Frederick, as I mentioned above, was the head developer in the Gear project in 2014. He disappeared after using his own body as a guinea pig to the project, as did most of the others in the crew. The lab was destroyed, and all of the people went missing. In the ruins of the lab were found designs left by Frederick for weapons, infusing the power of magic into the weapons, same with Gears. They were designed to be the perfect weapons to use against Gears. It's like he saw that he was going to screw up with the Gears, so made a fail safe.**

**Human warfare, brought down to the roots of human ancestry itself, dating back to animalistic punches, and using rocks, and other objects to gain the upper hand in battle. From using a rock, came a devised weapon, one with actual usefulness and craftiness. Then came better ones, from rock to club, and club to sword. And, from there, they learned to minimalize the battle aspect of warfare, and do it with as much ease as possible, furthering the advent of guns. From guns came bombs, which came even bigger ones, endangering the entire race as a whole by the single detonation of one. Continuing in the ease of combat, man created Gears to fight for them, and then the Gears turned and fought against them, returning back to the fundamentals of war itself. Using their bare hands and crude weaponry, the demonic race of assembled and mutated creatures were simplistic, and the warfare against them turned equally barbaric.**

**In the beginning of the Crusades, there were bombs, there were bullets, there were all the innovations of war that humans had grown accustomed to. But, for every Gear slain, what purpose was there? Resurrection under intense magic radiation, and then the continuation of the species by adding more carcasses to the brood, and making any creature a Gear through assimilation and alteration, the Gears were a force to be reckoned with. Though it did require the body to be brought back to a factory to have the medical process reworked for the resurrection, Gears were puppets in all senses of the word. After all the bullets were spent, after all the bombs dropped, after every new warfare technique was used, it came down to the humans fighting Gears as they were meant to, hand to hand. Bringing to life the old arts of combat and creating new ones, the weapons were forged, the skills relearned, and slowly man built itself back up again. In the early days of our species, we fought the elements and predators, now we fight our own predators and the elements are in our favor, as now we can wear clothes and think decisively, our predecessors had more animal in them than we do, giving them an edge against a similar enemy we know nothing of.**

With one quick slash, Ky killed another Gear, cleaving it in half from its clavicle to its hip, the seared nerve endings and organs black and crumbling, turning to ash rising into the air as it fell to be swallowed by a low embracing fog, giving off a red distant glow from the underneath blood staining the dirt. Quickly averting another attack from behind, he dodged a horizontal blow by ducking, and brought his own sword up fiercely in an upward stab, his blade ripping the jaw of the Gear apart, and cutting halfway into its skull between the eyes, or what was left of them. It twitched, the blood slipping down the blade in globs, then falling backwards into the fog, being pounded upon by its own comrades as they advanced over the body like it were nothing more than a human.

_Jeez, they aren't ending!_ Throwing a bolt from his sword off of the tip as he slashed into the air, his seemingly evaded attack was nothing of the sort, as the electricity leapt off of the blade, and found a host in the nearest Gear, hunched over like an ape, and then being shocked erect, the lightning jumping from piece of skin to the next, turning black with every contact of the sparking death. Falling to the ground with a wisp of smoke emitting the body, it was removed from the way of the next Gear jumping forward, vying to get its time with Kiske. Being stabbed through the lower abdomen by three large tendril claws, the Gear behind lifted the carcass from its kneeling fatal position, and tossed it behind it, onto the heads of the surging mass of Gears.

Dispersing on the front line to any close soldier, the Gears fought the battle they were commanded. Slowly being manipulated like chess to go space by space, surge here, defend there, the primary fighting actions, defenses, and movements were controlled by an auxiliary programming within Justice's chamber. **More on that later, but we've got a battle at hand.** A secondary wave surged in from behind the main forces of Gears, putting more pressure on the ones at the front line, as they all pressed forward, regardless of Gear or human killed in the way of the thousands plus mob.

In a 360-degree motion, Ky swung his sword, an arc starting high and eventually, the blade swinging around so far it ended up finding its way through the bones of ankles and tendons of calves. Gears screamed in pain by gashes on their chests, few fell over dead with decapitation, and others toppled under the loss of a limb. Ky's quick action left him momentarily open, despite the mob enclosing him, leaving him off from the dead Seikishidan soldiers on his right and left. He was enclosed in a circle by the enemy, the line of defense being broken and holed in many places. A rusted Gear sword came down fast and hard at Ky after he was recuperating from the spin, getting ready to jump back and sprint. Catching the side of his arm cloth, it ripped the white cloth to shreds, barely missing his arm, and finding a soft earth to hold the blade. In a quick succession, the Gear jumped forward with another slash, blocked by the Fuuraiken, and then a retort slash by Ky, ending the third successive slash midway by the Gear, who dropped the rough blade as its throat was pierced.

Removing the unholy blade, a spout of rotten blood spilled over the ground, the Gear being tossed to its side by one behind, grunting and hungry for the thrill of death, though artificial to what Justice said they needed and wanted. _I'm trapped! God, gimme a way out!_ He fended off another Gear, removing it of its leg before it was removed from his sight, another Gear replacing it. A barrage of attacks from all directions came, his skillful dodging not wearing down on his stability, as sweat poured off of him like a water spout does when turned on, and Ky was definitely glued in the on position. After just acquainting himself not too long ago with the Fuuraiken, he himself was not a master of its ways, but he knew he was far better than anyone else, as he could control it, to an extent. _I hope this works…_

**It was said that the user of the Jinki, the weapons created by Frederick, are a select few, who have that innate ability to control themselves so much, they can control the magic that binds them. In any other person's hands, the Fuuraiken was a long sword, in Ky's hands, it was a metal blade made of electricity. Of the eight known Jinki that Frederick made designs for, there were never any first hand creations of the weapons, except for what the U.N. made, which was directly made off of the diagrams anyway. Other than that, no others exist, besides Fuurenken, the Fireseal, but that's a different story that we'll cover later. Made in the same fashion as Gears, these select few weapons were made with the infusion of magic into the very atoms and molecules that made them. Harnessing magic's innate ability to create and disassemble things in the world, because it is the fiber that holds everything together, it also has the ability to create basic elements from it, such as lightning, fire, wind, ice, and a few other undisclosed elements and molecular combinations. Naturally, they were worked into the weapons, but as I stated, only available by the right users. Not to mention they don't all necessarily have to be weapons to harness this power, in the traditional sense.**

**They were made as a precaution, the best anti-Gear weapons. It seems as if Frederick somehow knew that his own deviations from the mortal coil would be inevitable, as were his creations wrecking havoc only preceded in magnitude by a complete and total destruction of the world, only seen in equal mass to that of the prehistoric sixty-five-million-year-old meteor, the ice age, the Bubonic plague, and a few others. Basically, the worst tragedies in the human history, but this one take the cake by far. After the advent of Gears, the world went through economic growth like crazy, sending even the peasant man who could afford one Gear to upping his productivity in whatever his job was up to five fold. Also, Gear production was in high demand. In the previous world disasters, man was aware and able to defend himself, but this one came as a complete shock out of the blue, like a kidney punch from behind, that left most of the lazy and pompous world unready for the exercise ahead.**

**Anyway, as I was saying, those who control the swords have to have a level of physical and mental stability to use their full ability. If one possesses that ability, but has yet to hone it, results could be disastrous. If one simply doesn't have it, the Jinki elicits no response. The weapons have been nicknamed seals, since they can create and seal the element of which each weapon is normally allocated. Thunderseal, Fireseal, and who knows what else, the U.N. won't tell. Thought itself doesn't truly unlock the power of the weapons, but rather feeling them. As humans come back to basic combat over and over through the centuries, there was always more art and more skill in the old combat than pulling a trigger or pressing a button, and it transfers over into using a Jinki. And when a Jinki gets a capable user, just by holding it, the Jinki gains more strength, and bends to the will of the user, even emotion and expression being translated to the weapon. Of course, this is all heresy, and it could just be in the user's imagination.**

A soft blue light cascaded off of the edges of the Fuuraiken, and looking at the blade itself, one could never tell it had a change in color, but the electricity in it surged to life, gathering inside, bits and pieces of the light escaping on the edges, in the right shimmer, like it was hiding the inside of what was happening. Ky was working quick, because the Gears were all within two yards of him, and would be slashing his bones to pieces and having his blood splattered on their faces with glee within a few moments. So, he closed his eyes, deep in thought, becoming one with his Thunderseal. While he was never taught how to use it, or why, even when given it, he felt that attraction to it. He felt that bond between him and the blade, despite its obvious religious symbolism to completely defy Ky's nature.

The electricity started to leap off of the blade, lining the ground in sharp little zigzags, disappearing as soon as they came, striking everything they could, till each static bolt became bigger, and stronger, till the small jolts were strikes of lightning, and engulfed Ky. No static electric particle coming from the deluded blade touched him, and he didn't have any trouble feeling himself through the sword. Every Gear ran in at him in the circle, which he was the center of, being thrown back, charred and smoldering, and as they did, he slowly started jogging forward, eyes still closed, his direction being led by God, and his protection by that of God's ultimate hatred.

The electricity started to engulf Kiske like a ball, his running sphere of light like an epiphany of Christ, and death to the many Gears it touched, body parts being instantly incinerated and removed from the morbid life, if it could be called that, of being on a Gear. The closest analogy to what Kiske was doing was riding the lightning, if it could be so said. He pumped his legs as hard as he could, his brain focused solely on his sword, though it got harder and harder to keep that concentration, by every passing moment, every flinch of a muscle, took away from his concentration, much less running at a sprint through hordes of enemies.

The pulsating aura of electricity brimming off of the weapon seemed to thin, every bolt and jolt smaller, thinner. The glow started to fade from vibrant blue to the dull blue one would see from a cow grazing on a pasture and the sky reflecting in the lazy eye of the it. Finally, the lightning bursts ended, the blue fades stopped, Ky lost his concentration, and his breath came out in a giant gasp. He fell to his knees, unaware of his surroundings, gasping for breath, the tip of his sword implanted into the dirt, the light fog like a blanket hiding his kneeling position. _Get up! Gears around! Up!_ Ky opened his eyes, his mouth gasping for air, the saliva in his mouth thick and instantiating to his parched throat, pushing on the grip of his sword to lift himself up to fight. To at least stand and face his death, where he knew he was not safe, not to kneel in tired fashion before it.

His glazed eyes, pumping with adrenaline, black ridges lining his view, he saw no Gears. _Did I die?_ He turned behind him, and saw the blazed path of blackened Gears, rising smoke, and the putrid smell of raw flesh flamed off of the bone unnaturally. Not like a pyre, but that of an electrical burn, smelling like pouring sulfuric acid on copper. Through the small alleyway he blazed from his imprisoned circle, he saw the Gears were quick to react, jumping in the lost space, surging forward, but he had time. Lifting his head high, gasping in all his lungs, he shouted words he had never wanted to, even from childhood.

"Retreat!" The few Seikishidan men around him, in the multicolor-lined uniforms with the white of the normal parts, stained red with rotten blood, or the still vibrant crimson of their comrades. Few turned their heads to see Ky yell it, as they knew his voice, but they yelled it the same, to continue their voice down the line of soldiers. The initial line of battle had been crushed, big spots of weakness in it, and a few packs of soldiers banding together fighting off the Gear threat where it attacked them, but it was unrelenting, like ants trying to fight a washing tide into the anthill. They can stand their ground and push against the water, but it won't stay blocked forever, and it will break through. And like a flood, the Gears poured through every crack, every crevice of the defense, and now, there was no defense.

**_-X- Author's Notes –X-_**  
- Zeronova's Notes:  
- Well, you ain't dead Kaiser, good to see. But, you need a story to compete with DG again, but I am up for the challenge. Anyway, this is Monday's update, next Monday, we have the Seikishidan retreat.  
**_-X- End Author's Notes –X- _**


	3. Arc 1: Retreat

**_-X- Introduction -X-_**_  
- Desolate Gail__ Redux_  
_ - Started on: 5-17-2004 / Posted on: 5-31-2004 / Checked on: 3-8-2005  
- By: Zeronova  
- Chapter 3: Retreat_

_- _Text: Third person, Narration  
- _Text_: First person, Thoughts  
- **Text**: Interjection, the Narrator****

**_X- End Introduction -X-_**

"Damn right we retreat! Come on and run!" Quint yelled, slashing his old withered sword at a Gear, lodging the blade into its left bicep, and then kicking the Gear with his right foot to dislodge it from his weapon, and slashing another one behind him with the twisting momentum, leaving a gash oozing out putrid blood straight across its misaligned ribcage. He stepped back to run, throwing his blade's tip down and to his left, slicing through the ankle of another Gear, the smooth and spongy skeleton of the disfigured and morphed creature being cut with ease. Then, Quint sprinted backwards, back towards the Seikishidan headquarters. The line of defense had been broken, so quite a few Gears had gotten through, and his sword was not of no use on his sprint back. The fog made it no easier to see where he was going, but these flat plains had been his turf for the past four years, so he felt inclined to know where he was going, more so than a dirty Gear. The distance they had traveled out from the base to where they stood on the field had to be about half a mile, and the sprint was a bit much for Quint, as if the battle wasn't enough, but he had adrenaline working on his side to keep him going. On the way, is intention wasn't to kill anymore Gears, but get them out of his way. He got the order to retreat, and when he got back to HQ, there'd be a new plan.

_This definitely is one of those goddamn times where shit is happening, and if I do survive, maybe I'll get that promotion. If I live this day, and nothing comes of it, fuck the Seikishidan, I'm going to go be a politician._ Quint gave himself some comedic relief to calm his nerves, and his breath during the sprint, his sword swaying side to side in his hand as he did, the drops of gelatin blood flicking off into the fog at his knees. The fog before him was like a mask to his ultimate goal, the door after door metal squares in the hillside of the Seikishidan headquarters. After going down the slope of the headquarters out of the mid-floor opening warehouse north edge, it leveled out, the hill more like a plateau to a higher flatlands, the battle now on the lower flatlands. Around Quint, he could see the specks of white coats flaring behind the fleeing soldiers such as him, the lower coat trails of his trench covered in red residue and soggy dirt kicked up by their boots, his gauntlets dripping with the oily blood of the unholy creation.

_Keep running._ His throat burned in the thin French air, and the moisture from the fog didn't serve to help precipitate his dry mouth, the athletic weariness setting into him. He figured he was close, and once he got to the foot of the hill, he had about seventy five feet to climb to one of the doors, and then he had to slide in. Around him, he could hear the pattering of fleeing footsteps, and the Gears galloping behind. As soon as the defense retreated, despite the breaking of it, the Gears surged on full force, without hindrance, and they were gaining fast. The animalistic ones, crawling on four legs, leapt into the air thirty feet on each bound, only to do it again on a single touch of ground for a springboard. A soldier running next to Quint was falling slightly behind, and was crushed underneath the three hundred pound Gear who landed on top of him, crushing his shoulders to pulp and mashing his face into the ground with his leap. Like a frog off of a paddy, it continued on its next bound, landing about fifteen feet in front of Quint, and now running at him, after turning its head to face him.

Low on the ground, it ran like a cougar, long nails on all four of its limbs digging into the dirt, wishing it were the flesh of man. Quint brought his sword up to his face, both hands grasping the hilt of it, the hand guard resting on his cheek, blade held out in a stabbing position to the oncoming enemy. He knew it was going to leap, it was an animal Gear, made after a mammal, obviously. They pounced, it was basic knowledge. So, when it was within five feet, he could see the muscles tense for the large jump, the hind legs curling in, and he smirked a little, being routine practice to him. As it leapt, front legs extended out, claws trailing dirt from the ground it used as a podium, it kept itself barely above the fog in its pounce, about three and a half feet off the ground, traveling at about sixty-five miles per hour. In a second, Darton rolled down under the enemy, sword still held forward in the stabbing motion, and as he did, the blade turned upward to the sky, wheeling down into the ground as his entire body did, the neck of the Gear bursting into a crimson display, the slash of the rolling blade under the Gear extending down to its pelvis, where it fell to the ground, under the mist in a radiant display of splattering blood.

He regained footing after the forward roll, and continued his sprint. _There it is! Home sweet home! Don't give up!_ He pounded his legs harder, each step he could feel his toes digging into the soft, humid ground, and each step his legs feeling one pound heavier, until they weighed in the thousands. He made his way up the hill, the surrounding Seikishidan soldiers also, being flanked down by pouncing Gears, the hordes behind them gaining quick, about a hundred feet behind. One of the steel shutters in front of him already had a few retreating soldiers in it, and they were starting to close it, fear in their eyes at the hordes behind.

"Don't! Wait, you bastards!" Quint yelled, trying to run harder to get under. He was too late, the bolts latching and the shutters being held fast. His fast banged on the metal twice, cursing the cowards behind, before dashing to the next on his right about fifty feet and two or three shutters down which had also been locked, all of the shutters on a horizontal line from the large assembly room. This one was also shutting, the people behind afraid. "Don't you fucking shut it!" he screamed, diving. His face rubbed into the dirt, bringing up a fair amount of it in his bangs, but he kept the stealing dive for home base long enough that the soft ground turned to cold cement, his clothes getting caught in the humanesque imperfections of the cement as he rolled further in, hearing the latches bolt behind him, and finding home, sweet home.

He stood up slowly, brushing the dirt off of him, panting as hard as he could, but still trying to retain his big-bad-boy image. The soldiers at the door barred it with their bodies, already locked the latches and bolts on the metallic freight way. They looked at him in disbelief, their mouths uttering "How did he get in here?" but no breath coming to vocalize those words. He didn't care, and he dropped his old sword, and jumped to the gate, barring it himself. It rippled under the pressure behind, the Gears pounding, slashing, using their bodies as battering rams, an getting sucked underneath the others, squashed to a pulp, but for the better cause of killing the humans inside, the Gears would have themselves killed, because Justice commanded it.

"Hold it tight!" he said between clenched teeth, large gasps between the clenching, his shoulder straight on the metal, like the three others next to him.

"Soldiers! For those of you still alive, retreat further into the facility where fighting conditions are more favorable!" Quint heard the voice echo throughout the large assembly room, where he stood among ten-thousand not but two hours ago, and now less than a thousand stood guarding the sixteen entrance doorways with their bodies and lives. "On my count…" Kiske yelled to all of the soldiers, all of them hearing him crystal clear, despite the ravenous cries and shouts of the Gears outside, some of them breaking through with their claws and rudimentary weapons. "One…" _You better know what you're doing, Kiske. _"Two…" Quint looked to see where he left his sword when he dove in, and had planned when Ky said"Three…" _Shit, no time now, run._

In one slick movement, Quint threw himself off of the doorway, and ran straight back, scooping up his rough sword in hand, and dashing to the back of the room. The others at his own door were not so fortunate, as two of the three got away, but the last man, an orange rank, was too slow on his dash away, and a Gear tearing through the metal, reached its hand through, skewering the guard. Three large crimson spots appeared on the suit, stretching outwards as he gasped for breath in lungs that would not accept it, and he was pulled backward against the door, smashed into it again and again, until his body gave way, and was sucked through the small hole the Gear made for its hand in a bone cracking _scrunch_.

_Where the hell are we even running to!_ _Run! Go!_ Quint pushed himself harder, pumping his arms, his breath hoarse and tired, the back of his throat feeling like the Sahara had relocated itself from the top of Africa to his mouth. His head was getting light, the adrenaline thinning from the initial rush, and fatigue coming on fast and quick, like trying to stop a 100-car freight train in less than 10 feet (**rumors are that train tracks still exist in A-Country and are used by locals, but that's heresy, but not to get ahead of ourselves**). He could hear the clops of the mutated feet smashing into the cement walkways, sending cracks from around the crater of the step, each one pounding behind him, and hundreds more behind that. He could hear their grunts, their hungry breaths, the husky tone in their gasp. They were gaining quickly, and the two Seikishidan soldiers, both private like him, were starting to slow, their fatigue setting in harder than Quint's.

They tried to run faster, their legs hurting, and then, the one to Quint's right, fell, his knee collapsing under him. He tried jumping back up to run, but the makeshift blade of a Gear came down in his skull, the left side of his face falling next to his body, and then being crushed under the storm of the pugilistic Gears. _Shit! Run faster!_ Darton pounded the cement with his boots harder, moving his legs in front of him faster, longer strides, the sword in his hand becoming heavier with every passing moment. He finally got to the right door inside the headquarters from the entrance hanger. There were large doors at each side of the back wall of the room, leading to the two parallel walkways in the Seikishidan France headquarters. All of the soldiers who were on the hanger doors, protecting them, fled to one or the other of these large twenty foot wide doorways, and those who were barricading a gate in the middle of the room had to pick one to run to, and generally were flanked down by a Gear. The lucky few were the ones who made it to a far gate, like Quint, where he had a straight run to the Floor C balcony walkway.

The walkways were about twenty feet across as well, the soldiers, about two hundred a side, running to the back of Floor C as fast they could. Two soldiers who got to the doors first were hurriedly fiddling with the lock mechanism, breathing hard, hands fumbling with the equipment. The soldiers flew through in a wave, unaware and selfish in their flee of life while the two at the doors on each side tried to bash the controls into submission to lock the shutters. Their honorable attempts were ended in vain, for as soon as the humans were done running through, an endless supply of Gear brood blew through, dicing the humans to indiscernible flashes of blood and tissue.

The quickest of the soldiers were in the front, the surge of white coats sometimes knocking one of their own over, only to be trampled on by the other fleeing soldiers, and then the Gears. The Gears were gaining quickly anyway, because of their altered DNA and zoological roots. Quint could hear the men behind him being stabbed, thrown slashed, and killed. Soon, he'd be up next.

"Aggh!" he heard the bloody gurgle of a man, as he was impaled by a Gear's full brunt. The leaping enemy latched all four of its appendages into him, landing on his back, and all of the long razor-like claws on the hands piercing through the body, the white garb turning crimson, dripping blood from the claws, now stained red , as if a trophy. Then, another fell, to the blade of a Gear stuck halfway into his ribs to his sternum. _They're catching up way too fast!_ The Gears were like a wave, jumping forward in one stride, then going back a little while another leapt forward, being shoved to the back by another in the lead now, a constant wave of progression.

Quint ran harder, but saw the pack of Holy Order soldiers fleeing further surpassing him, and found himself trying to catch up to their coat trails, billowing as they ran, like children just ahead of him laughing at him, that he couldn't catch up or fight back. The breath of Gears were on his neck, and he pushed harder, not gaining any more speed, the men in front of him passing him, and all the Seikishidan behind and on the sides of him were already struck down. _I'm not gonna die! Run faster!_ Before his thought could be obeyed by his limbs, he felt the cold steel digging into his right arm.

He screamed in pain as the blade found its way through his shoulder down to his bone, the rusted jagged edges ripping excess flesh and blood, the Gear's sword clanking onto his bone, more pain flying through his body. He turned and contorted, losing his running, and hit the side rail. The Gear pulled the sword from Quint as it ran by, flinging him off the edge, his arm trailing blood down to his wrist, the stream staining the white of the garbs a dull red. He dropped his sword as he tumbled off the edge, his right hand in a ball of pain. The Gears rushed on towards the Seikishidan ahead, making nothing of the soldier fallen off the edge, the battle program Justice was using statistically calculating after the wound and being tossed off of the edge, he was dead.

What the Gears lacked to see was the small hand holding onto the edge. Quint's left hand held onto the edge of the Floor C base. Every floor had a set of three-tiered metal handrails, one vertical bar every ten feet, and three parallel horizontal bars running the length of the headquarters for each side, looping around on both sides to form a very elongated O. The fingerless glove that fit under the gauntlet went up to Quint's elbow, made of a thick leather, like the dueling bracelets men used in the 16th century, but the coat arm went over it, and then the two-pieced colored gauntlets corresponding to rank, tied with leather belt straps. He held firm onto the rough cement edge, the perfect right angle of the edge giving him good grip, but there was a problem, he was right handed.

Slowly, the grip on the edge started to falter, and slip, and his right hand was throbbing with pain and getting numb, all of the blood flow in his arm being redirected to his sleeve, and then dripping off into the abyss of two stories below him. _This is really gonna suck…_ He counted to himself, lipping the words. When he whispered three, he threw his right hand up to the ledge, instantly pain shooting through his body, and more blood seeping through the wound like twisting a water mane valve from a quarter to full open. He held on with his right hand long enough to get a better grip with his left, and it fell to his side again, Quint gasping in pain at the movement and rotation on a shoulder that had been cleaved in two.

The Gear rush above his head seemed never to thin, despite the constant flood going on for roughly thirty seconds since Quint grasped the edge. The stream seemed not to trickle, and it was constant, probably about three thousand Gears strong against a couple hundred remaining Seikishidan. He knew he couldn't hoist himself up, his arm hurt too much, and the Gears would kill him. Luckily, a solution blazed next to him and shattered his stability.

A large, crescent shaped of condensed lightening smashed into the Floor C walkway about twelve feet from Quint. The wedge looked like it was cut out of a full sheet of electricity, and thrown forward, the condensed bursting lightning kept in from of the crescent, but jumping around inside like a hot potato. When it smashed into the walkway, it sunk in, like water drops into a big glass of water, a few remaining jolts jumping back and forth before sweeping inside, then, it exploded in a massive display of rocks, dust, and metal flying in every direction. The Gears directly above it were incinerated, and the other Gears thrown back, a wave of them being knocked on the ground.

Grunting and snorting, they got up. The humanoid ones backtracked to go around the structure to the other side, or were simply killed by their brood, and the ones that were more animal based simply jumped over the new twenty foot chasm. The shock of the internally exploding bridge sent Quint falling, shaken off of his ledge, and straight onto the rail bar of Floor B. He fell on it with the straight of his back, gasping out in pain as he lost his breath, and rolled to his left, falling on the floor of Floor B. Gasping and coughing, he looked forward, seeing the debris of Floor C's catwalk on Floor B's. A few mangled carcasses and pieces laid smoking and dismembered, a sign of the power of Ky's weapon. Looking to the opposite side of the headquarters, Quint saw Ky sprinting off on Floor C, his attempt to stop the Gear flow on this side, unaware of Quint's presence, to which he almost ended.

The staircase and elevator shaft to the north of Quint's position, which was where the assembly room was, had been crushed. The elevator shaft was probably mangled, but showed no problem from the outside, and the Gears had already bashed the hell out of the stairway, and now only boulders and mangled metal stood where the case once was. This was at least half a mile behind Quint, the total length of the Seikishidan headquarters vertically being a mile and a half. To the Gears, if they destroyed the means of access to other floors, they could trap and annihilate the humans. But, the opposite side of the Seikishidan headquarters also was outfitted with the same transportation, but the Gears could deal with those running there, and if not all, they could round up the survivors by clearing out every floor.

Quint raised his body up to standing level, coughing still from the pain in his back he got from falling a story onto a metal railing. It didn't make matters better he had a gash in his right shoulder that would require medical attention before it got infected, not to say the blade was entirely clean that cleaved him. _Thinking of swords…where's mine? Shit…_ Quint was weaponless among Gears, that if they knew of his existence, would make sure it ceased indefinitely. The Gears jumped across the gap above, others being tossed off the edge, as the flew by Quint, watching the bodies topple down to make a crunchy splat on the stories below, yet none came down to Floor B. It was probably not statistically calculated to be perfect to reach the humans, so they were not instructed to do so.

"Great…just goddamn great…" Quint muttered, holding his wound with his left hand, his entire right arm soaked the length in blood. He started walking forward, towards the end of Floor B, southward toward where the Seikishidan were. _Not much of a rush, no Gear is going to come down here. But, the Seikishidan might be all killed if I walk my way down there, not to mention I'm already late by a few minutes. Well…shit, I hate my conscious._ He turned his walk into a jog, swinging both of his arms, despite the pain, wincing, then running harder and harder. The pounds of feet above him were no consolation to his goal, the massive pounds by each step, the hoarse breathing of the mutated creatures, being remote controlled.

"Get offa me!" Ky's voice rang clear, over the Gear screams mingled with human scowls, reaching even the ears of Quint, half a mile back. One more slash of electric fury, and the Gear toppled down to the ground, legless. After the enemy was killed, Kiske ran further, avoiding the next one surging to take the place of the fallen comrade. "Go!" he yelled to the Seikishidan soldier in front of him, who glanced back in fear of the approaching Gears. Kiske was in back, fending them off his best while the rest ran, and he tried to keep up while protecting the end. Not only was it his duty as a leader but also it was his job by having the weapon that could hold them at bay. The surge pressed on, him killing the ones in front, which seemed to be worthless, as one just took its place as soon as it fell back. He sprinted further, turning and slashing at an oncoming Gear, searing a large gash across its chest, red with blood, then charring black with the follow electric surge.

Running forward again, he came up to two Seikishidan soldiers, an orange lieutenant and a green private, who were running as fast as they could, sweat pouring off of their faces, and losing the battle against their own mortality. A cat like Gear, mangled in its form, skin falling off of the bones, metal pieces to hold together the flesh bolted through the rotting flesh, ran forward, the face a mess. Where the eye should have been was a flap of deformed skin, and the only eye left was down on the jaw, the entire thing a mess of DNA destruction, due to the magic infusion. Smashing the concrete with each lethal step, it ran upside Ky, growling, saliva dropping from its yellow and blood stained incisors. In a quiet swipe, Kiske slashed backwards at it, the Thunderseal coming horizontally into the face of the obstruction of life, the electricity jumping off of the sword and into the wound where the sword was. Convulsing, the Gear dropped to the ground, smashed by the foot of another Gear, and Ky sprinting farther forward.

"Run faster!" he commanded the soldiers next to him, who were oblivious to him a second earlier. The recognition of the great Ky Kiske shocked them for a second, but they obeyed, pushing their body harder than what they thought they could, for the goal of pleasing the head of the Seikishidan, and saving their ass, which one took more priority was asinine, as they followed the order. One of them dropped their sword, chucking it behind him like a javelin, then proceeded to use both arms to sprint ahead further, now weaponless. Ky's hard gasps came few and farther between, more violent in each of his draws of air, until all of them had passed him, despite his sprint being constant. _Good._ With his speed constant, he jumped forward onto both of his hands, rolling, and turning his body in mid air, so when he regained his footing from the roll, he was facing the Gears.

He had about twenty feet between him and the surge, but they would cover that distance in less than a second, so as he rolled, he crossed his arms across his chest, the Fuuraiken aimed toward the sky, starting to glow a dull blue. In one swift motion, he brought his arms punching forward, in an X motion, blue trails of electricity following his right hand, as the lightning surged off the blade, down his hands and up his arm, though it did not hurt or burn him at all. A large crescent was left in the wake of the slashing sword, a condensed form of electricity that shot forward, reaching out to a target it could not find, the electric jolt trying to find a conductor, sprawling out to all available walls and objects. Finally, the projectile smashed into its target, the ground. Fading into the ground like a ghost passing through a wall, it did nothing, the Gears temporarily stopped by the object, assessing the threat and what to do. Suddenly, their eyes flicked to life, twitching, receiving their new command. They rushed forward, as Ky sprinted towards the rest of the Seikishidan.

As they passed over the piece of Floor C where the electric missile had hit, it shook, and then collapsed under its own weight, pieces of rock and dust shooting up through the Gears on top, splats of blood staining the walls, and the rest of the walkway just falling to rubble for about ten feet, the Gears being crushed under the weight and rock, and falling down to Floor B dead. The ones behind jumped over or ran up along the side of the wall clawing into the cement, or just were killed to make way for those who could cross the chasm, as Ky had done on the opposite side.

_Good, I cut off the main routes on both sides, so the numbers will be decreased._ Ky thought with a smirk as he ran, a smirk he could not make, for his mouth was open too wide sucking in air, his sweat stinging his eyes to look back and see his handiwork. The smashes of the leaping Gears on the opposite side of the gap rumbled through the ground, Ky feeling them approaching as his feet stamped on the ground, feeling the vibration of theirs. So, he ran harder, and harder. He couldn't keep blowing out holes in the walkway, because the same few Gears would jump across, and he couldn't do it again if he wanted to, he was too tired and was bordering on passing out due to exhaustion. His run turned into a jog, which turned into a limping sad jog, as he lost more and more of his energy, the Gears closing in nearer and nearer. He could start to see the end of the headquarters in front of him, The Seikishidan packed together like a ball of white coats awaiting the Gears to close on both sides and squish them. _Just get there! Don't stop! _He ran harder, returning his long strides from his jog, pushing harder, closing his eyes in pain and just running.

He met with the scared soldiers, holding their swords shakily, eyes twitching from Gear to Gear as they closed in on both sides of the curved back. The backside of the Seikishidan headquarters looped around to both sides, like an oval. The Gears on both sides were leaping, like frogs, pouncing on the cement and walls, jumping off to do it again, gaining closer and closer. Ky dove though the few soldiers in front, who made way for him. He hit the cement hard with his shoulder, gasping out in fatigue, his saliva thick and burning to his dry mouth. The soldiers murmured in disbelief, the commander of the Seikishidan was going to fight with them here and now. Slowly, Ky stabbed his sword into the cement, like a cane and raised himself standing off of it, trying to exert an aura of authority, that came off half-assed because of his fatigue. He tried to sputter out some words to the two red level, top ranking Seikishidan in the pack, the dispersed ten lower ranking red sergeants, and the rest low rank orange and green, about one hundred and fifty strong, compacted into the small stretch that bent around from both of the parallel walkways on Floor C.

"Get…both of…the walkways…secured…" Ky gasped for breath "and hold them." He choked out. The soldiers were sucking wind as much as he was from the mile and a half sprint, not to mention the battle in the fields before the long haul. The red level secondary commanders yelled out for the troops to disperse to both sides of the rounded division, heading off each side of the walkways. The soldiers stood in battle stances, gasping for breath, the oncoming flood of Gears about to wash them over. Ky sat down on the cement, tired from the blasts he had to do, then sprinting further. _Get up! Get up! Kliff would NOT do this! You're being selfish! This is not the way humanity should go, with their savior sitting on the ground, recuperating while others fight for him! _Kiske stood up slowly, and walked to his right, joining the mass of soldiers standing as a barricade to the flood of Gears quickly coming closer and closer with each passing moment.

"God will help those who fight for him!" he said, his own personal belief in God perfect for the Seikishidan. **I think that there's some unknown confusion about Ky's personal evangelism, so let's take a small break from the suspense to delve into that, shall we? Ky Kiske was appointed the leader of the Seikishidan in late 2174, now entering his fourth month of being the commander in 2175. He was the youngest commander ever, being the spiritual successor to Kliff Undersn, who personally appointed Ky the job before he retired. Ky and Kliff were close, as Kliff saw Ky as a lost son, and Ky saw Kliff as a father. But, even as the leader of the Seikishidan, Ky sees Kliff as the epitome of a man, near God in caliber. Ironic that through his pure and unrelenting belief in God, he subsidizes his own belief to Kliff, and nothing else. But, we'll get more into that later, and let's not ruin the suspense of the upcoming battle, eh?**

The flood drew closer with every moment, the Gears like a virus flying forward with their leaping strides. Landing on the walls and then jumping off again like frogs, they came closer, covering twenty to thirty feet a leap. The lumbering humanoid versions were absent from the oncoming horde, since they couldn't clear the gaps Ky had made, so these animalistic types were the main enemy. Ky gripped the Fuuraiken tighter, the long ten-inch grip squeezing into submission with the taped handles. Below the grip as a triangular bottom hilt that made sure one's grip did not slip off. Above the grip was a large oval shaped hilt, white on the edges, and a large blue shaped egg in the middle. The blade seemed to melt from the egg shaped rank-indicator, flowing into the blade from the large hilt, the total length of the sword totaling a massive forty-eight inches.

The Fuuraiken started to glow a dull blue, Ky shortening his gasps, gaining more composure, which would be shattered in moments anyway. The soldiers around him were scared, their swords shaking in their hands and eyes twitching, counting Gear after Gear, and every increasing number they saw, it was discounted from their morality to the fight. Their breaths were slow and sputtering, shuddering inside. Ky gripped it tighter, his hands ringing the shaft of the sword, brighter blue coming from the edges of the sword, the texture of the sword itself starting to eerily shine in azure from its dull gray.

And so the battle began.

**_-X- Author's Notes –X-_**  
- Zeronova's Notes:

Well, we begin the running battle to the back of the Sekishidan H.Q., followed by that one event that set the pace for DG. New readers, you'll not know, old readers, it happened in previous Chapter 2 in the end, except this time, I slightly changed it, but mostly, it is the same. Next Monday, same as always, another chapter.  
**_-X- End Author's Notes –X-_**


	4. Arc 1: Unknown, unnamed

**_-X- Introduction -X-_**_  
- Desolate Gail__ Redux_  
_ - Started on: 5-17-2004 / Posted on: 6-7-2004 / Checked on: 3-8-2005  
- By: Zeronova  
- Chapter 4: Unknown, unnamed_

_- _Text: Third person, Narration  
- _Text_: First person, Thoughts  
- **Text**: Interjection, the Narrator****

**_X- End Introduction -X-_**

The first Gear to come into Ky's range of attack latched onto the wall on Ky's right, then leapt off, claws forward to try and impale the commander of the Seikishidan. In the middle of its flight, it was brought to the ground, the Fuuraiken piercing through its ribcage and protruding from its back, the gasps and death cries of the Gear emitting through the halls. Bringing his sword down to the ground, Ky flung the body off of his blade, realigning it so the point faced the next enemy. He brought his left hand up to the blade, holding it like a pool cue, his eye seeing down the length of the sword, picking an enemy rushing in, and he ran forward. Stabbing out, his weapon seemed to gather specks of blue light from his shoulder and down his arm, jumping down his wrist and onto the sword, where it shot out like a giant bolt of electricity, frying three Gears in front of it, leaving three black cindered forms of bodies, bones bubbling under the intense heat, and bits of muscle and flesh hanging smoking before being tossed out of the way by their comrades behind who were intent on killing humans.

The rest of the Gears finally caught up to the rest of the infantry, Ky being the only one in front of them, his dash forward to meet the enemy proving his bravery to them, and inwardly, his insanity in battle. **Patton would have considered it a test of a true man, but the other soldiers considered it certain death, and Patton was a general from a good two-hundred-and-fifty years prior. How do I know all of this random information that you, my reader, never would? It'll be said later.** The soldiers back, waiting for the Gears to come, were struck down by their enemy. The first line of the approximate seventy-five soldiers were mowed down under the blades and claws of the Gears, blood splattering onto the second line of Seikishidan behind them who stepped back in fear of the Gears in front of them tearing their fellow soldiers to pieces.

"Attack!" Ky screamed in between his slashes. The soldiers resolved their fear, and slew the Gears who were on top of the dead and dying in front of them, seventy-five Gears to the seventy-five that died on the first line. As soon as the first line of Gears were dead, more came, and the militarized operation turned into an all out battle, soldiers fighting Gears all around, two to one, four to two, and every situation as the Gears cut the close knit attack barricade to disassembled groups of men fighting scared for their lives.

Stabbing his sword into the abdomen of one Gear, Ky ripped out his sword, slashing to his right, beheading another, and swinging his momentum around to horizontally slash the ribcage of another Gear, his blade going through the soft tissue of the Gear with very minimal resistance. Another Gear jumped in, throwing the two dead ones out of its way with a cry of excitement, slashing vertically with a curved piece of rusted metal, bent into a makeshift sword. Ky jumped back, the air whispering by the sword soothing Ky's face with the light breeze, but a strong reminder that he almost just lost his head. The sword lodged into the ground, cement cracking as it forcefully dug into the ground. Taking the opportunity, Kiske jumped forward, dismembering the arm that held the sword, in one quick slice to his bottom left, and then brought the sword up again to his upper right in vertical slash. Bristling with electricity from the wound, jumping from piece of skin to piece of skin, charring the area as it landed, the Gear fell backward, the bubbling slash up its body settling to a black sear.

A quick block to Ky's left, a few sparks jumping off of the blade from the impact, instead of the elemental power, and the blue-level Seikishidan officer throwing his weight forward, the Gear's blade locked in his was thrown out of its hands. In a quick move, Kiske dropped his body to a kneel, swiping in a circular horizontal motion, removing the Gear's heels from its legs, and falling backward onto three Gears behind it. Jumping up from the ground, Ky landed on top of the footless Gear, his sword stabbing through it, and two others under it, killing all three with a scream from Ky as he stabbed into each of them, feeling the bones crunch and skin rip from each as the sword plunged deeper and his sweat fell fro his bangs, exploding in small opaque drops on the disgusted frame below him.

The Gear numbers had dwindled since the initial attack. Their original numbers were unknown, but since the Seikishidan had about ten thousand strong, the Gears had more, but not by terribly much. The numbers had gone down from there, Seikishidan more than Gears. Asides from the few good trained soldiers, the rest were picked off quickly. **In this time of war, men were recruited at eighteen, from all over the world registered by the U.N. on a city-by-city basis per country. Although certain country lines stuck, parts of countries had been lost to the Gears, and thus a country-by-country method would be worthless, so the city-by-city draft or not was determined. Cities like Moscow were off of the draft, as the city was wiped off the map, but other cities in Russia, such as the Eastern European ones, such as Warsaw.**

**To every boy in these cities, joining the Seikishidan at eighteen was a dream, but most of them did it sooner. At ten, a boy was allowed to join a Seikishidan training camp that taught them of the way to fight, about Gears, and gave them a place to live, sleep, a place to eat, and the most important thing is that it provided security. Few boys could sleep at night knowing they might not wake up the next morning, and most didn't have families. So, it was the best thing for them. Women were not allowed in the Seikishidan, but they were allowed to work with the U.N., which included anything from secretaries, lobbyists, and then their Action Agency, a stupid alliteration that was acronymed down to A.A., which basically was a glamorized medic. They carried a twenty-eight-inch sword, which was backup, but were medics first and foremost.**

_We're gonna need those A.A.s…_ Ky slashed at another Gear, killing it on spot with a deep rooted slash, cutting into its right side about three inches, and exiting the other side of the ribcage about five inches, the large gash across the chest open and smoldering, small pieces of flesh welded to the bone, which was cracking in the searing electric wake, a dull gray smoke escaping the burning tendons and the water seeping out in mist for the bones to wither and implode on themselves. The wound had been cauterized, but not like the blood mattered to the Gears function as a killer or internals, as it was more like a puppet run by electric impulses and an inhuman extra variable that kept the Gears living, despite their dead bodies. **Though the Gears were alive, their blood flow was stagnant, the blood almost coagulating because of the blood's small movement. Also, when humans were made thousands of years ago, by God or evolution, the Seikishidan preferring God, they were not made with the magic variable in the equation of their biology.**

Another man fell to Ky's left, the talons of the grotesque abomination tearing through his clothes and into his skin, through his shoulder down to his sternum, the blood dripping from the talons and seeping into the white uniform. Whipping its hands out of the dead soldier, the blood splattered in red darts over everything in the vicinity, finding bulls-eye on white cloth. Punching a Gear in front of him with his left hand, and following it with a diagonal slash with his right hand, Kiske threw another Gear corpse to the ground, the squeals like nails on a chalkboard exiting the lifeless throat as the lungs decompressed.

Kicking the lower leg of a Gear that jumped forward on Ky's right, it stumbled onto one knee, and met a sword through its chin in a fluid motion. Continuing the upward slash, Ky whipped it around in a circle, catching three others in the wake of the electricity. The soldiers around him were sparse, the secondary and third lines rushing to fill the gaps, but even them being slightly few in numbers. The Gears were endless in their heads going back beyond Ky's vision, but he couldn't take time to assume how many were left, as he jumped out of the way of a volley of attacks, to block one, throw the enemy and kill it, then another and another. _We need reinforcements, we need A.A.s, we need God. Jeez, something!_

_A heavy breath escaped Darton as he stopped his sprinting, and put his hands on his knees, head hanging over his body in exasperation. He looked up, seeing slight flashes of blue in the distance, and the screams of men and Gears echoing in the mortuary of the Seikishidan headquarters. The ceiling above was Floor C, cracks permeating through the three-foot thick walkway from the Gear's flood before, their tremendous weight and strength pounding the cement into cracks that spread through it like a weed's roots._

_"Keep moving, keep moving…" he gasped out between breaths. Slowly, he jogged forward, his mouth haggardly open, then burst into a full sprint, his mouth hanging wide open, sucking in air like a vacuum had been created in his lungs. He had about half a mile to go, the echoing cries of his comrades like a testament to him to run faster, get there quicker, to fight. Though, his jaded point on the Seikishidan was only superficial, he did want to fight. Hating the Seikishidan was only skin-deep, though he did. For no promotion, for fighting for four years with no avail, and with what they could have done to stop why he was here, he saw it worthless that him being here to stop it from happening to others was vain. **That's another road that is explained later, so let's not jump the gun, another old relic partially used by collectors and those who could make ammunition.**_

_He ran harder, sweat pouring off of his head, matting his long bangs to his face and together in large strands, instead of the large hiding feature it should have had. He had no weapon, but when he got there, he'd fight regardless. In plus, despite pessimism, he knew there would be dead and weapons not in use by the corpses. **In the course of his run, let's just say he got tired and skip ahead to the part that matters, instead of him running another half a mile while tired.** The Gears above his head were gnarling with their attacks, the screaming men more amplified than ever, and blood dripping off the side of the balcony, splatting on the railing on Floor B with a __drip-drip-drip_.

_"Aaagh!" a soldier screamed, as he was tossed off the side of the railing. His arm was snapped, bone protruding awkwardly from his forearm, and the weapon in his hand hanging limply as he toppled off the edge (more like tossed). As he fell, his body hit the railing below on the side, the rest of the momentum tossing him like a rag doll and his head smashing into the cement from the whip. He was instantly dead, as half of his head caved into the bone. Quint gasped raggedly, both from exhaustion and the dead body meeting him as he ran up to the battle above him. He knelt down, his mouth sucking in air, and grabbed the sword from the green level private's corpse, and then closed the eyes of the limp carcass. Looking above to the battle he could not see, separated by a ceiling, he ran the last twenty feet to where the levels curved around and were linked by a stairwell. Jumping around the edge, he slammed each step with his foot, skipping one in between each stride to get up the stairs._

_Coming up behind the two groups of soldiers, the Gears pressured the resistance on both sides of the semi-circle that looped around to each side of Floor C, and every floor for that matter. They both started parallel to each other, at the edges of the curves where the left and right catwalks straightened out. Now, they were both edged onto each other's back on the curve, about ten feet between each and the stairwell, which acted as an apex for the fight. He ran to his right as a soldier from the right was thrown back to Darton's feet, a bloodied hole in his chest, and him grabbing into the air to an item he could not reach, possibly God. His eyes were glazed, then fell dull, his hand slapping against the concrete and He who was reached at taking his soul, scooping it out of him lovingly. Quint stepped over the body and ran to take his place in the broken line of the offensive to hold the Gears back. Before he did though, he took a look at the Gears, jumping up to have a head count._

___Only about fifty left. Three of four full rows on this side, probably the same on the other. They must have retreated slightly, or we're that damned good. No, they probably took back part of their offensive once they seized the Holy Order's headquarters, and the others are on patrol or search. There were too many to have killed…_ He blew the thought out of his head, he had a fight to win ahead of him. Reaching down to cup the grip of the chestless soldier, he tossed it like a javelin into the hole where he was thrown from, piercing one Gear through. Gripping the sword of the private who smashed into Floor B earlier that he had taken, he jumped in the broken line of white coats, slashing at another Gear, taking off its arm. The steel cut through the appendage like it was paper, because of the rotten flesh hanging on the bones, which suffered of a derivative of osteoporosis since the Gear operation. **All Gears were other organisms before Gears, but a sort of virus, a changing, turned them into what they are.**

_**A long time ago, men had stories about reanimating the dead, which isn't far off of a Gear. The problem is, Gears are still alive, but have no real sentence. They're slaves, rotting while alive, and follow orders. A zombie was usually created through a virus, a radiation, something unnatural. But, all of the things were in fact natural, but only unnatural due to human view and use of them. Magic could be considered unnatural by the use it has that is not natural to humans. It isn't air, water, or anything else. Would electricity be no different if we had not harnessed it? Would fire be regarded as evil and unholy, if we had not learned its secret? Man tried learning to harness and emulate magic, and achieved partial success. Only in their success, there was an unidentifiable flaw that cost the lives of billions.**_

_Darton leaped forward, bringing his blade upward from the ground in a vertical slash, killing a Gear in front of him, the one that had a sword sticking from its chest. The one behind threw the halves away and stepped forward, gnarling with a bit of saliva dripping off from the elongated, yellowed, rotten teeth. Throwing its sword at Quint in a horizontal slash, he jumped back, the edges of the corrugated steel ripping a few pieces of cloth from the chest of the green piece on his uniform. Quint switched his grip to his right hand, and quickly jabbed the Gear in the face with his left, a bit of blood on his fist as he drew back, the skin puncturing itself like a blister. As soon as he did, he turned his body, momentum in his right hand with the sword swinging it in a large arc and crashing through the skull of the Gear. Drawing the blade out of the neck of the Gear, it fell backwards, the edges of its head and neck forming a pool, a twitching limb standing it out before it was lost under the next Gear, which covered it, and diverted Quint's attention with a growl._

_A slight glint of blue caught Darton's eye, and he turned his head to his right. __Whoa._ Kiske stood, attacking and blocking, the lightning jumping from his sword and latching onto Gears around. It seemed to flow up and down his arm, but never touched his skin or burned the cloth. Darton was jarred from his stunned state by a Gear who jumped forward, tackling Quint backwards. Its shoulder was rough like sand paper, and knocked the wind out of him. The Seikishidan sword flew out of his hands, and the Gear fell on top of him. Sitting up, it leaned over him, growling in delight of the kill. The sweat on the mutated skin was like a gelatin, sticking to Darton's trench coat awkwardly, and the Gear itself, a mutated abomination. Bringing its long, claw like hands up about to stab through Darton's head, killing him, ripping him to pieces, whatever Justice told it to do, it screamed out in pain, its back arching up.

_A blue light emanated from its back, and it fell limp and dead on top of Quint. He pushed the body off, the eyes looking blanklessly at nothing, the red glimmer fading, as breath and life did. Smoke exited a crater in the back where a lightning burst had smashed into it, burning through the spinal column and leaving cinders of the internal organs, pieces of still red flesh hanging loosely, a bit of blood dripping out like stale milk. Quint looked up and saw Ky nod to him, a solemn "You're welcome, so get in here and fight" expression shown by him. The Commander turned to keep fighting, but was assaulted by a Gear who landed in front of him, pebbles and dust being thrown up by the massive impact. In another leap a moment later, it threw Ky off his feet, the Fuuraiken flying out of his hands._

_The Gear landed again on the cement, ten feet from Ky, who smashed into the ground with a thud and rolled to a stop when he hit the wall. Gasping out in pain and agony, he looked up to see the running Gear, coming in for the kill. A constant motion was in the eyes, like it was thinking, processing. __You got my number, eh Justice?_ Thought Ky. The Gear stopped in its run at Ky, nearly five feet away by a sudden change in its direct line with Justice, like it was receiving new orders, the head cocking slightly to the left as the claws dug into the cement, a wicked sound echoing over the cries of Gears and dying men. It turned to the Fuuraiken on the ground, still sizzling with jumping sparks across its surface. It sprinted off towards it; Ky feebly tried to jump up, beat the abomination to it, but falling without breath and the pain.

_But, the sword was not recovered by the Gear, as a leather fingerless glove raised it up, a green gauntlet strapped on above the hand. As Darton enclosed his fist, the blade jumped to life with more electricity, reaching out to the walls, pebbles, and whatever it could, conducting off of it and running along it, the blue light like a ghastly after thought to the awkward electricity. He brought the sword up, his other hand finding the grip haphazardly. The Gear came faster, changing from two legged sprinting to an animalistic pouncing position on all fours, jumping both hind legs up between its front, then the two limbs on the upper side of the body reaching out to snatch more ground. It jumped off the cement, claws extended as if to impale Quint while he was still standing. But, Darton wouldn't allow it, nor could he control it. He slashed the sword upward while bending back, the Gear leaping right through the electric wake, trailing blue lines from the sword to the body as it rolled searing to the ground and along, dead instantaneously. The electricity left in the absence of the sword's swing sizzled along the body, jumping like children on a playground, each landing spot of the bounding sparks instantly shriveling, turning black, and smoking a pungent smell of death._

_"What the…" Ky muttered as Darton wielded his weapon. The Gears blew through the line of soldiers, four of the white coats being sent through the air, crashing into the wall with a blossom of red or off the edge, to thump on the concrete after a screaming descent. The line was basically broken on the right side, and the left was holding and winning. More Seikishidan were left on the left side of the arc than the right, but if the left side were left to fight two waves of Gears closing it in, they would surely die. Darton felt a pulsing off of the sword, like a heartbeat through his hands and up his body. Maybe it wanted to go to Kiske, its master, maybe he was just unaccustomed to it, or maybe it was just such a thing as uncontrollable or unwilling to the one who wields it as any other thing that needed to be broken in. Regardless, he couldn't control his actions, as the sword seemed to throw him about and control him like a stringed puppet, ironic to the actions Justice put on humanity's immediate enemy._

_Darton felt his arms move, but couldn't control them. He brought the blade parallel to the ground, and the hilt to his face, the tip of the blade pointing at the Gears running at him, after breaking through the Seikishidan soldiers on the right blockade side. The front one was husky, breathing heavily, tossing off one of the soldiers as it barged through who tried to stab it, the hapless soul floating over the edge of the railing, a scream echoing through the lifeless halls and its weapon clanging to the ground, no hand to wield it. The unholy blade not only glowed now, but it seemed to have azure to spare. Bits of electricity fizzled off of the sides, the glow was ravenous, the blade's silvery color turning into a pulsating blue, like a heartbeat, every bright parabolic swing of color jumping out more bolts, conducting along what the electrons could reach._

_Darton felt the sword pulse in his hands, like it was a life of its own, its very will making him move forward, making him swing, and its monotone thumping feeling heavy in his hands every time it pumped, feeling the beat in his body, his eyes going black every other second then surging back to life with the beat. The Gear trudged forward, faster and faster, the others soon behind, throwing off the Seikishidan, stabbing them through, any means to get by the now broken line of defense. Darton slowly slid his left foot out forward, getting a grip with his toe. __The hell am I doing!_ He thought. He shifted his weight backwards on his right leg, his knee bending a little. The Gear was now within five feet. Its next step and it could take off Darton's head clear and cleanly, except for the blood that would follow. The electricity flowed up and down Darton, coming out of the cement ground of Floor C, pulsating along his legs, finding way over his belt buckle, up his chest, down his arm, jumping like playful kids from point A to point B, playing hopscotch along his body, till it found the blade, drawing it near like a mother calling those playful children in for dinner.

_The Gear brought its rusty curved sword up, which was hardly a sword at all, but merely a sharpened, rusted piece of metal that had been filed down on one end to be gripped. Darton jumped forward, his right and left hand on the hilt as he jumped forward, then stabbed the Fuuraiken forward in succession, his left hand leaving the hilt, and his body turning to extend his right arm further forward. Shutting his eyes, Quint did what the sword had him do. A brilliant light emitted off the sword, a flash of illuminance jumping off of the sword. It expanded from a small bolt to a wave of electricity, centered like a bullet, ripping through like an arrow with the electric wake of a speedboat through calm waters. The immediate small arrow burning through, then a delayed blossom of electricity from the initial small jolt expanding outward, destroying anything in the blast radius, which was about three feet._

_The charging Gear didn't even feel the death, its body melting, the "sword" it carried dropped to the ground, steaming from the flesh still burned to the handle and glowing orange. The Gears behind were decimated also, reaching through all of the Gears in the flood. The electricity boomed through straight, then pieces of it jumped out, conducting and running along other Gears, making them stand erect under the shock, burning the flesh as the electrons felt over its conductor, their jaws clamped shut and grunting out in pain, their saliva flying from their mouths as organs contracted and imploded on themselves and their muscles tightened to the point of ripping the fibers apart. Few fell into ashes, as well as body parts, sifting to the ground eerily, as others just instantly died under cardiac arrest or severe internal bleeding. The arrow of electricity vaporized into nothing once it blew through the fifty Gears left in the barrage on the right side of the arc on the back of Floor C, and all floors, for that matter._

_After the blast, Quint didn't move, sword still extended. It quivered, and fell out of his hands, the flamboyant blue before seeping into pure flat steel, like it was an ordinary sword before it clanged on the ground lifelessly. Quint's hand fell to his side, eyes rolled into his head, and fell forward, next to the unholy blade, a loud __thunk_ as he hit the ground. Where the Gears broke through on the left side was in between two Seikishidan on either side of the three in the middle of the line who were killed simultaneously to break it. The two on each side of the purge were unharmed by the blast, as the Jinki itself was made with the intent of killing Gears, possibly the DNA itself attracted the unholy magic from the blade to the Gears. The Gears that were in direct line of the blast and surrounding were killed, but a few remained. The last four soldiers took advantage of the hysteria, as the remaining few Gears' eyes shifted with life, rolling in their skulls, data sent back and forth between Justice, before being cut down by the soldiers.

_On the left side of the arc, the few Seikishidan ganged up on the last Gear, each putting their blade into it, three in number. It fell, gasping hatred in its voice. The right side had survived, yet would not have if Quint had not helped the left, and they would have been attacked from both sides and annihilated. The three turned about, looking for another Gear, adrenaline still pumping from the thrill of battle. Looking to the other side of the arc, they saw the smoldering corpses of Gears, Kiske sitting on a wall gasping heavily and trying to stand unsuccessfully, the four Seikishidan left on that side, and a newcomer to the fight lying lifeless next to the holy implement._

_"Hey man…we're alive…" one muttered between gasps, his sword tittering in his hand, then falling out and clanking on the ground as he dropped to his knees in exhaustion. "We're alive…" he muttered again before passing out from exhaustion. The other two grabbed a rail and a wall respectively, and sat, closing their eyes. Praise God for living, ask God for forgiveness on the deaths today, mourn for lost friends. Ky slowly stood up, holding his bruised ribs, and hobbled to Quint, the four guards on the right side each finding some way to celebrate, by talking between breaths or closing their eyes. Somehow, they were preparing to die, be stabbed, life ended, but in all of three seconds, the entire force was destroyed, and they lived, with this mysterious new soldier who seemed to appear from no where, like a savior. Kneeling down, Kiske grabbed up his sword rather violently, like a child who wants their toy back and sheathed it slowly, examining the unconscious private._

_"Who're you…" he muttered. He looked over to the three soldiers on the left, four on the right, and one of the four approached him, a red level._

_"Sir, we survived the attack." He said rather boisterously. "God bestows his wishes with us!"_

_"Sergeant…" Ky gasped out between exhausted breaths "round up the soldiers, we're moving out."_

_"But sir, we won!" he desperately argued. Ky shot him a glance of defiance, and he silenced himself._

_"There were far more Gears in the initial attack than what was here. They must have retreated to cover the other sides of the base, in fear of us calling in reinforcements. Or, they could be lying in ambush. We move, now." Ky said with a fervency and tone that generally should not have been from someone his age. The soldier saluted him, his eyes wandering above Ky's head, as it was Seikishidan conduct never to look a commanding officer in the eyes._

_"Sir, what about him?" the soldier asked, nodding his head toward Darton. "We're too tired to carry anything but ourselves, sir." Instantly, the soldier made restitution. "I mean, we could carry him if we need to, but I don't think…."_

_"Sergeant, go sit down and rest." Ky said authoritatively, looking back and forth at the six remaining soldiers, asides the sergeant._

_"Sir?"_

_"We'll rest here for a bit, wait for him to wake, and let us get some energy back. If they attack us now, we're basically dead, but we shouldn't underestimate God's faith in us to stop such an attack. Noah would not have sprung a leak in the ark during voyage without the ability to fix it, and God would not put us there. Sergeant, go rest for now." Kiske said very strictly. The soldier sighed, saluted, and found a spot between the blood, rubble, and bodies to lie._

_"Who are you…" Kiske asked again in a mumble to the unconscious body of the green level private, a question that had no required answer. Ky looked up and out, along the lines of the Floor C, broken and battered, bodies of Gears and humans lining the catwalks, pools of blood forming around them. Splatters of blood on the walls, broken railings, loose weapons and limbs like lost artifacts, all like little decorating touches. "God, save us…" Kiske muttered before falling to his knees and his back collapsing against the wall, sliding down and sliding into slumber._

_****__-X- Author's Notes –X-_  
- Zeronova's Notes:  
- And now you know the end of the first major battle! Not much to say, except I have a lot more charaterization in the story than before, as well as more showing of the real world that GG takes place in ( a big goal of my story ). So, next Monday, June 14th, 2004, another update's going to fall into your lap.  
**_-X- End Author's Notes –X-_**


	5. Arc 1: Waking to find eternal sleep

**_-X- Introduction -X-_**_  
- Desolate Gail__ Redux_  
_ - Started on: 5-17-2004 / Posted on: 6-14-2004 / Checked on: 3-8-2005  
- By: Zeronova  
- Chapter 5: Waking to find eternal sleep_

_- _Text: Third person, Narration  
- _Text_: First person, Thoughts  
- **Text**: Interjection, the Narrator****

**_X- End Introduction -X-_**

A slow resolve moved over the eight soldiers, one unconscious. Sleep clawed at their eyes and ached in their muscles, numbed their mind and tingled in their limbs, but they jumped awake at the slightest noise, just out of fear of more Gears. Murmurs of men drifting in and out of sleep slowly emitted, as well as a few people shifting from their sitting positions on the wall, grabbing up sword, looking around, and drifting back into rest.

"Kliff…what should I do in a time like this?" Ky murmured, half asleep. His own words echoed in the emptiness, and met back to him, waking him. He looked around, seeing the other nodding soldiers in bits of consciousness and sleep-induced hazes. Slowly, he blinked a few times. _How much time has passed? We're wasting time! They'll be back!_ _Get up!_ Slowly, Ky pushed off of the ground, the Fuuraiken in his hand throbbing to life in his hand, the undulating pressure in every beat, rhythmically, enough to set a monotone to. Standing up, his knees popped a little, a bit of a pain shooting though his legs before the muscles felt normal, the muscles jumping out of rest and the bones subtly cracking into the right places, relieving a bit of tension from the awkward sitting angle.

"Soldiers!" Ky said with an authoritative voice. The sleeping seven lobbed their heads up, to see Ky standing, his head swiveling to look at all of them. They jumped up, pushing off walls, grunting as their joints moved back to life. In a voice from all, the word sir echoed from each of them, in different tones and volumes. "We move out now. We need to get out of here." He said.

"And him?" the sergeant said, designating the mysterious unconscious private.

"Him…" Ky said, with a preordained disdain for the man who used his weapon. "You" he said, pointing out a private, who stood erect at the notion from a lazy, yawning stage "pick him up, and bring him with us." The soldier kneeled down and threw the body over his shoulder. "Now, move out. We're heading to the front of this floor to get out through the hangar doors. Once we're out, we'll take the walk to the ruins of Paris." The soldiers saluted, and started walking to the front of Floor C, wordless. The general feeling amongst them advocated the uneasiness they all felt. Who are they to be with the single most important man in the world? Fighting with him? Walking with him? This'd be a story for the grandchildren.

The walk along to the front of Floor C was interesting. Coming upon bodies of Gears, men, broken floors, broken bodies, weapons without hands to wield them, and hands without any arm on them. The bodies had dried blood around them, brown from the lapse of time. Lifeless soldiers staring up to God, which didn't stare back. Gears who were lifeless in life and in death, and still retained that aspect. Along the way, Ky kneeled down to close the eyes of the lifeless soldiers, give prayers among the dead, and give enough of God's graces to the dead, but he did so quickly, missing a few and saying the prayer for the anonymous few. After the first hundred, the bodies became too many, his prayers too few. The soldiers following behind his lead had no words, only walked forward, heads down.

Oh, I remember that guy. He had a good sense of humor. And that guy over there, could eat a hundred servings. Now they're dead. Jeez, can you believe it?

Their words were not said, but conveyed in their walk, shifty eyes, and general aura. Sadness filled every pore in their body, flooded their lungs, bloodstream, down their stomach, and flossed them like a bead on a string. The bodies lined the walkway as far as the eye could see, and the opposite walkway on the other side as littered with the waste from both sides of the coin. The dual enmity between them both showed in the trash left. Bodies and lives thrown away to the ideals of humanity surviving. Many thought humanity had its own due date, an expiration. Others knew only the war against Gears, and it was life. It was there, an eight-hundred pound gorilla on their back that was common, nothing new to think about, it's life. Then, there were the soldiers and people who knew this was the struggle for humanity. Those in the lap of security was provided by them, so their own ideas of the war being useless and trivial as only because of the work the Seikishidan did.

Seeing the rows and lines of bodies only provoked Kiske to know his role. He must end the role they had. This was the hundred-and-first year of the war. Last year, a lot of people had thought the war should be ended, it was the century anniversary, the war needs to end. But, when Undersn appointed Kiske, the entire morale was lost. People lost it, they didn't think a kid could lead humanity to victory, and on December 31st, it was lost. He couldn't end it in the hundredth year, and through the hundred-and-first year, people now didn't care. They thought another hundred years was inevitable, it was life, this wasn't going to end, and this was life in its entirety. Kiske thought differently. As a leader, he wouldn't sit idly to watch humanity be crushed under the foot of its creations, and even if the hundredth year was for naught, he would end it as soon as he could. This was something not able to be differentiated or argued, this was God's will. Humanity has to live, he would lead them. A lamb into the lion's den, he would come out on his feet, scathed and broken, but as God helped those in the past, Ky knew he was also in God's pursuit, ideals holy, and actions too.

Only inwardly, his prayers to God were as numerous as the bodies lining the catwalks. Prayer in hoping the Gears had moved out, the Floor C transport hangar wasn't destroyed, the bodies would all find graves once they recuperated their forces, and many others. Though, like a splinter in his mind, that man constantly floated over his thoughts. _Who was he? How could he just pick up my sword and destroy those Gears? Maybe he couldn't control it, he did go unconscious and basically let loose far too great of the blade's power, but he has to be strong of mind to be able for that…_ Loking back, Kiske saw the private, eyes down, carrying the mysterious other soldier. He was Seikishidan, no doubt, but he looked familiar, yet somehow foreign. He couldn't wait to meet this interesting character.

Making his way further, Ky started to use the tip of the Fuuraiken as a walking stick, stabbing it lightly into the ground, traversing over the bodies. His feet making sure not to tread on bodies of humans, but forcefully smashing the carcasses of Gears. An arid stank of death permeated the air, like stale fish left out for days. It was constant, like an attacker, that never left. Fanning the smell away from your nose only gave a brief second of solace, before the stench filled the now odorless trench left by the fanning, seeping in to invade wherever it could.

Each footstep, one after another, only laid more bodies in front of them to go after, the fog dissipating, like removing the cover from a long awaited present, to find coal in place. Rows of dead, splotches and pools of blood dried and brown, like they were taken from their master, and tried to crawl back, but died to soon to find home.

"Wait, sir." One of the four privates said. Four privates, two lieutenants, and one sergeant made their motley crew, with the commander Kiske and the unconscious fifth private. Ky turned around, inquisitive to the nature of the soldier's direct statement, followed with an absentminded sir he neglected. "Sir, this is my…friend." He said, kneeling down to a body of another private, left arm severed, blood dripping from the mouth, and a bit of blood left on his face, dropped from another soldier, who lie next to him, the blood not his own. **In the stink of death, which blood was which didn't matter, it was all equally human.**

"It's regrettable he died, soldier, but this is a war and—" Kiske cut himself off, the soldier looking back up at him with tears in his eyes. Now was not a good time to be a leader, especially when death permeated them like an irremovable stain from their souls, which would stick with them years from now. Ky turned around from the soldier, mourning the dead, looking forward at the seemingly endless catwalk on the right side of Floor C. He surmised they had walked about a mile after an hour or two rest, and they had another half a mile or so to go. The sobs of the soldier behind him flew past him, Kiske being a block for the sound, but it still flooded past him. The childish rule of "if I can't see you, you can't see me" seemed to loosely apply at Kiske not trying to humanize the dead.

When putting faces to units and personalities to soldiers, he would lose the authority he worked to attain. The dead are more than just lost souls if they were people, he would too mourn. But, he had to be a leader, and lead humanity to a victory, instead of extinction. If the humans he commanded became people, he would lose control. Sending a person to die was harder than sending a platoon of nameless soldiers who served the purpose. He couldn't get attached, he had to be individualistic and a leader amongst men mostly older than him. At sixteen, what kind of God could bear the burden of saving humanity on a kid? Ky often felt like Christ, given something he could not comprehend or change, but had to adapt and accept, whether he wanted to or not. Recognition of what he was given was imperative, but comprehension was not.

**Christ was God's son by birth, burdened with gifts to help humanity, but had to die for their sins, and he knew this even from the beginning. Yet, he still continued his life through because he knew he had to do exactly that, and not for God, but for humanity. God was the central axis of the Seikishidan, a very religious sanction of knights, like police with a Bible instead of a badge. The religious undertones of the organization determined every move and motive, despite some of the members not even believing in the strict Roman Catholicism of the Seikishidan. God's creation was man, and they were created in his image. In man's image, they created Gears, except Gears backfired, but how much different is that from Adam? Christ was killed by God's own creation because of the sentience he bestowed on them, rather unwillingly. Gears were given sentience under the secret project in 2074, and that was unwanted, so Gears were sent from Eden and started a war to reclaim the planet. The difference was that humans couldn't wage war against its creators, only showing that we didn't prepare ourselves or Gears for the inevitable, as God had those backfire plans.**

**I'm going to stop the story for a second because I believe that as a man living in this time, I must say something. For all of the terror told by media, soldiers, and God of the terrors of what Gears are, I have never seen one live, well, that up close and alive, they've always been far off from me. The most I have seen was a wasted battlefield, and not even then did I see them as a mortal enemy so much more as a poor soul. Their deaths were somewhat justified in a humane fashion of killing them, and releasing them from Justice. Also, Justice, the name of our oppressor, isn't it ironic? Justice fought to kill humans for the Justice he thought he should bestow. Hell, even Justice himself thinks he is God, waging a holy war against all humans to purge the land of what ails it. As much as his own pursuits are realized, it is ironic a Gear would do that, want to kill humans, that is. But, an atheist to God would be as bad, wouldn't it? Except for someone to kill God, they'd have to meet Him, and know He existed, so how could you kill Him? He cannot die, and if you saw Him, you'd be a believer, which is where the faith comes in. I'm jumping ahead of myself, just anxious to usurp the authority I have as a writer to tell you what I think, and I should, but not yet.**

"Ready?" Ky asked, tilting his head back to the mourning soldier. The private closed the eyes of his dead friend, and stood up.

"You know, they used to tell me that they'd give a eulogy for the dead in times of peace, recalling their life and shit." The soldier said, recomposing himself. "Think I could give him one before we move on?" The other soldiers were all standing around, looking at the bodies, hard chiseled expressions on their faces, trying to emulate Ky. They leaned on walls, sat down, stood over the railing, none of them seeming to notice the grip of death around them.

"Get yourself together, you can give it to him later. Right now, worry about staying alive and not joining him. If we make it out of here, we'll clean this all up and commemorate every single of them dead, like God would want. We'd risk our lives to stay, and God would agree. Let's move." Ky said, taking his first steps forward, the other soldiers quickly starting to walk behind him. The mourning soldier wiped his eyes with his sleeve, looked back down at the corpse, remembering the face, where he was, and made a silent vow to come back. Then, the soldier jogged up to catch the back of the procession. **Let's skip forward a little, and just say they found a lot more bodies of Gears and men, and finally got to the end of Floor C in the hangar, where they assembled earlier and evacuated back out of after. The gaps created earlier in Floor C were traversed by using pieces of broken railing to go across, like an outdoor survival skill. Now, to the hangar.**

Coming up on the large entryway to the hangars, the walls on the sides were bashed in, crumbling cement holding up an equally arched top that had been busted in by the flood of Gears earlier. The cement inside looked like a cratered moon with the slaughtered soldiers lying in pieces and footprints of the Gears left in the cement like reminders of the deed done. The doors to the outside, all sixteen of them, the large loading doorways with the vertically sliding sheets of metal allowing supplies and troops to be moved in and out easily, were all collapsed. After the initial surge of Gears drove back the humans, the Gears received an order to destroy the doorways. So, they bashed the sides into rubble, the ceiling into chunks, and toppled them all together in front of every doorway, crudely blocking them off from escape, but effective. Justice covered all of his bases, except for the variable of the resilience of humanity itself.

"We're fucked!" the soldier carrying the unconscious one said. He dropped the body, a thump emitting as he did and a grunt from the body hitting the ground. "We're entirely fucked! They've locked us in! We can't get out! We're screwed!" he yelled frantically, almost hysterically, running to each doorway, sifting the boulders as best he could, running to the next, seeking exit, and finding none.

"Hey!" Ky yelled at him, but he did not respond. After reaching the last doorway, putting all of his strength into trying to remove a chunk of ceiling panel that had been ripped out and dropped from some sort of reptilian Gear (what other type could have done that with the forty foot high ceilings in the hangar?), the soldier collapsed in front of the doorway, sobbing a little.

"I don't want to die here…." he sobbed, between gasps, a childish wane in his voice. Kiske slowly walked over to him, the other soldiers all standing stationary, like the other was insane. Kiske stood behind him, the soldier sensing his presence, and looked up at him.

"I don't need dead weight. You want to sit here and cry, go ahead, but I need soldiers who will fight. We'll find another way out, and you can help us, or stay here and cry." Kiske said without resolve, in black and white. The soldier nodded, composing himself. He was only eighteen, and unprepared for the war, but Ky gave him some reassurance, considering Ky was only sixteen, but had the resolve of twice that. "As for you, we're looking for another way out." He said, looking back to the other six, nodding.

"For now, we're going to stay here and take rest. We have two entrances to guard, on the far left and right side connecting to the Floor C catwalks. Unless the Gears bash through these piles of rubble, we're safe for now. We'll stand guard every hour or so, one soldier a post. Yell if you see anything and we'll stand ground. Try and get him awake." Ky said, pointing his hand to each of the items as he spoke. "I'll take first watch left" pointing to the left doorway "and you" pointing at the sergeant red level soldier "you take first right post." The soldier tried to form words to ask why he was, and not some low level soldier, but saluted Ky, and went to his post. **Higher authorities, gotta abide.**

"Now, you got time to yourself, Kiske." Ky whispered to himself, as he walked to the doorway, his steps echoing in pace with the sergeant who walked to the other door unilaterally. Each step of his was mocked by the following soldier in perfect unison. Getting to the empty doorway, his vision was overcome with the sight before him. Bodies lying as far as the eye could see, the mist from the outside dispersing through a few tiny holes in the barricades as the day heated up with the sun higher in the day, about noon. The rays of light stabbed through the mist like rains of arrows on invading enemies in the dark ages. Spears cutting through the low fog seemed to shoo it off the side of Floor C, falling off the edge and floating into nothingness from there, the flow from the outside cut off from the barricaded entryways, and the skylight above Floor F being the single disperser of tumultuous, invading ambience to the death filled H.Q.

The bodies along Floor C were strewn about like puppets cut from their master's strings. Bodies piled on the sides, hanging off of the railing limp, lying face up, face down, on their side, pieces floating in their own pool of blood, like a solitary island, removed from the continent it came from, unable to return. It almost seemed surreal. How could so many bodies be on this twenty foot wide walkway, all this blood and death, of men who were alive at breakfast? Sometimes, death itself infatuated Ky. How life could transform to death through the swing of a sword, through the spilling of blood, the life, the actual person from inside flesh and cells, could leave, disperse. A soul collected by God, through the open wounds and last breath, it floated out and up to Heaven for God's safe keeping, like a box of rocks that will never be put back to the gardens.

"We'll give you just graves, brothers. God will give you justice." He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the bashed and crushed door frame leading out to Floor C, exhaling upward in deep thought._ Kliff, I could use your help. What would you do here? How would tell these soldiers to keep fighting, when everyone they knew died and is lying on the ground they just walked over, without the ability to mourn or bury them, much less give them God's rights for passage? Sometimes Kliff, I don't think I'm ready. I can't handle this war, saving humanity is up to no one but me, can I really be given that burden? I know you'd tell me that Christ had a similar one, but I am not Christ, should I be burdened with the weight of the world when I do not have the holy blood flowing through me? Kliff…I trust your decision in giving me this, but I do not think I can handle this. What made you hand over the control to me? That little smile you gave me as you handed me the Fuuraiken, that sparkle in your eyes couldn't make me say "no thanks" in a thousand times over, but I question why. Your pure demeanor gave me that answer, your reassured look and smile, knowing it through your old bones that I was the one to lead, but _why_, Kliff?_

"We got him awake!" a soldier shouted, ousting Ky from his inward reflection. His eyes shot open and his head swiveled over to the sound of the voice, a private leaning over the unconscious one, who now moved with little vitality. "Sir, he's awake!" the soldier shouted a bit jovial, the first thing going right of the day. Pushing off the ground with one hand, Ky stood up, looking over to the six soldiers huddling over the one, the seventh walking from his opposite post to see the waking up attraction.

"Move" Ky said, pushing two soldiers out of the way to see the groggy private. "Who are you?" Ky stabbed quickly with his tongue, still a bit venomous from this _private_ using his sword. The soldier sat up slowly, his hand rubbing his throbbing temple, an aching shooting through him with every movement, the blood re-circulating and his vision shaky.

"Darton" he said, looking up slowly, then realizing whom he was talking to. "Uh…Quint Darton, sir. Private fourth-class." He said, trying to erase the previous remark, which was out of order with a commanding officer. "Sir, where am I?" he said slowly, hesitantly, his head circling the room, from soldier's face to soldier's face, broken doorways, cracked ground, blood dripping in from the edges of the room, bodies left dead where they lie, like an exhibit at a museum roped off from touch.

"Well, private, what are you doing on the ground? Get up." Ky said seething, standing up on his accord, waiting for Darton to follow him.

"Yes sir…" Quint said under his breath, like it was an added bonus to his words, somehow unjust for Kiske. A gift to a party who did not deserve it.

"Private, we're currently holding ground here at the cargo bay of Floor C. Now that you're awake, let's get moving." Ky said, turning from Darton, starting his pace to the right door.

"Wait, sir" Quint said, pleadingly at first, then repeated it with more force until Ky turned. 'What…happened?" he said hesitantly, the faces of the soldiers surrounding him set in stone.

"What happened? Well, first of all, we just lost all but nine of the Seikishidan forces in the Seikishidan headquarters, including you, but that'll soon be eight." Quint's eyes questioned Ky's heavy words, Kiske being a bit frontal in his anger towards Quint for the indiscretion before. "As soon as we make it out of here, Darton, I am dismissing you of service of the Seikishidan." Darton was perplexed, but then his gaze turned from confusion to understanding, and triumphant cockiness, in defense.

"Well, good then, Kiske." Quint said defiantly, re-evaluating his posture and respect after a moment. Ky turned around abruptly, his head lowered, but eyes standing straight like laser guides on bombs from above.

"Excuse me?" Ky asked instantly, a bit of malice in his words, but coming off with faux sincerity, only magnifying his anger.

"If you're going to dismiss me from service of the Seikishidan, why should I call you 'sir' or have any respect for _your_ authority?" Darton asked, folding his arms over his chest, a smirk. The surrounding soldiers all murmured amongst each other. Is he standing up to the Commander? He's out of his mind. What a disgraceful little bastard. Ky stepped back a little, the words hitting him hard. He hadn't expected this. He expected Darton to cower and ask for forgiveness in using his weapon, asking to be let back in, to fight for God.

"Soldier, you dare defy me?"

"Obviously, I'm now out of the Seikishidan, right?" Quint said, waiting for his confirmation answer, but Kiske stood taut, no words escaping his lips, and Darton continuing, as if the "yes" had been muttered. 'Well, I don't need to travel with you, do I? I'm dismissed; I can do as I please. And with my new found freedom, I'm going to get out of here." Darton said, taking the point and walking ahead of Kiske.

"You will not!" Ky shouted, his hand instinctively reaching for the Thunderseal.

"Oh really? You don't have authority over me anymore, you released me from the service of the Seikishidan." Ky knew he was defeated with words, and his hand slipped off of the hilt, his hand untensing itself and slowly removing itself, hesitantly.

"I said once we get out of here. We're not yet."

"Then I quit." Darton said, his words parrying Ky's now defensive ones. _What is with this soldier?_ Thought Ky. _He acts so nonchalant, so…disrespectful. He reminds me of…him…_ **We'll get to the "him" later in the story, it's a biggie.**

"Fine." Ky looked back to the other seven soldiers, who were lost among the quarrel. How could this private be so disrespectful and abusive of Ky Kiske, the savior of mankind? How could Ky be submissive to this…arrogant fool? Ky couldn't lower his authority to this soldier and lose his authority on the rest, and he couldn't let this one soldier best him. "Quint Darton?" Ky said, reassuring the name before continuing, "in the name of the Seikishidan, I request your assistance in getting out of here. Once we're out, you're officially released of service of the Seikishidan, until then, on behalf of the Holy Order, I beseech your assistance." Ky said, his tone low and voice like sand paper. He hated the words, and he tried to nail the point through he was imploring for the Holy Order, because if he said he needed more men to help get out of here, he would be the one at fault, but in asking for the Seikishidan, he saved himself face.

Quint laughed a little at Ky's request. "Fine, in the name of the Seikishidan, I'll help you, until we get to my room on Floor C, and from there, I'm going my way." Quint said, laying his terms clear, turning to face Ky face to face.

"Well, we're on Floor C as it is, so your room, and bust." Ky said. He turned his head to the seven soldiers behind him "Move out, we're going to Floor F before nightfall. We'll figure out escape from there." Ky said, the affirmative nods from the soldiers reinforcing his plan. Kiske walked forward, past Darton, both locking eyes and then Kiske continuing on. Darton laughed a little as Kiske passed him, followed by the rest of the soldiers, unsheathing their swords, and shooting equally malicious stares at Quint.

"I don't think you guys like me very much," he said with a grin. His comment was met with someone spitting on the ground as they walked past him. "Nope, not at all" he said under his breath, falling behind the last person who walked by. Scooping up the weapon of a fallen Gear, he pried it from the clammy, rigormortus stricken hand, wiping the handle off from the sticky blood. It was a straight long blade, rusted on one side, and curved at the top, like a pick. The handle was part of the long straight rusted edge, except it had been crudely sawed in an inch or two to give it a smaller grip circumference, and wrapped in some dirty, oily cloth.

"And our heroes walk off into the sunset to lands unknown" Quint murmured under his breath following the last soldier's footsteps out of the door, the echoes of plodding feet rushing back to him, like a finger taunting him to catch up, each of the reverberating echoes echoing to not stay where he was, move your feet to keep up. The words were something he had seen in an old reproduced broadcast of film from before the war, and before the turn of the 21st century even, a Western they called it. Such things were very few and far between in this war torn world, and even books, asides from the Bible, were precious commodities. The Bible itself was in mass abundance, providing people with the undoubtable certainty in their lives in a God and a purpose, not to mention the Seikishidan gave them out freely like air to any who opened their mouth to choke on it.

**_-X- Author's Notes –X-_**  
- Zeronova's Notes:  
- Well, there was the chapter. Quint's awake, and we already have him and Ky fighting. Plenty more where that came from. For all of you just starting DG, I hope you're liking it, and for all of those coming from the old version to the new, you'll notice all the new conventions and little nuances that I think make it much better. One of my main goals is to make a world for the Crusades, a living, breathing Earth that Guilty Gear takes place in, since the series lacks that depth and most fan fiction stories lack to set a convincing backdrop. Anyway, next Monday, expect the next, as per usual!  
**_-X- End Author's Notes –X-_**


	6. Arc 1: A rag tag bunch

**_-X- Introduction -X-_**_  
- Desolate Gail__ Redux_  
_ - Started on: 5-17-2004 / Posted on: 6-21-2004 / Checked on: 3-8-2005  
- By: Zeronova  
- Chapter 6: A rag tag bunch_

_- _Text: Third person, Narration  
- _Text_: First person, Thoughts  
- **Text**: Interjection, the Narrator****

**_X- End Introduction -X-_**

"Hey Kiske, I gotta get to my room on Floor C." Darton said arrogantly.

"We'll be there eventually, shut up and walk." Ky said slow and concisely, malice dripping from every word like precipitation from a frozen bottle. They all kept walking, over dead bodies, over pieces of rubble, through puddles of blood and kicking over dismembered body parts accidentally. Walking by bloodied hand to drained carcass, their boots tread unrelenting over the destruction. Their faces were masks of blankness, not showing fear, anger, sadness, but walking forward, eyes kept level on the person in front of them, in fear of their eyes wandering down to see a carcass of a friend, colleague, buddy, or just a carcass, as a few were not inclined to have an iron stomach.

"So, why you here in the Seikishidan?" Quint said to the man in front of him, trying to elicit a response to break the tense situation that seemed to permeate every lost artery in ever body, every crack in the floor, every gaspless lung, to fill it with something to keep everything out of mind and out of sight. The soldier turned his head, walking forward all the while, and just gave Quint a blank stare with his unblinking eyes, and then mechanically turned his head back forward. "Come on, quit, it's the fashionable thing to do." Quint comedically said, his own little laugh after his own words, dying out, the echoes seeming to stab him in the back even after he stopped.

They all kept walking forward, on and on. One foot in front of the other, the other now brought forward, look straight ahead, don't let your mind wander, stay calm. To Floor F, to Floor F, to Floor F. One of the soldiers in line tripped over a body, falling to one knee, and his eyes wandering down to see the body he tripped over. He went pale for a second, violating the unwritten law of not looking down, and choked on his own breath. He knew the man, he knew the carcass, and seeing him there startled the private. The next person in line, a lieutenant, grabbed him up by his collar and shoved him forward walking, the private wiping his eyes and reassuming his position in line and muttering that he was okay.

It was sort of ironic that the men didn't talk, like the unwritten law, as said before. That unwritten law permeated all, even the dead. They kept silent vows in their death as those treading over could wink down at the carcass staring at them, a little nod between both at the secrecy they held together, never to be muttered. Those certain codes, of Seikishidan, of God, of anything, kept the men going. Step over another, keep going, we'll get this all taken care of later. Hey Bob, we'll get you a coffin when I get out of here. And I'll wash your suit too, make it real nice, something your mom would be proud of. A spitting image for a Seikishidan soldier.

But, some of the things they experienced in this unwritten law burdened them harder than the death of their friends. Having to serve God, namely. Fighting for humanity, killing Gears, the pride and heroism of it all, those were benefits, but fighting for God, that was the tough one. God, He controlled all, He was the reason they fought, and He was supreme. So, why did He let his own paladins die? Why did He let the Gears be created? Why all of it? Most soldiers just threw it out of their heads, saying it was their test, as Jesus had his before his death. They would be ascended to heaven for fighting, alive or not, and their lives were meaningless to the big picture of humanity being saved.

**I need to take an authorly intervention here. This being a war story, it isn't true. War stories themselves are stories; usually parts are made up in every new telling. In every reiteration, new things are added, others disappear, some changed, and by the time it gets written, it is so perfect for story, it isn't even true anymore. Hey, Bob was killed by a Gear. Three weeks later, Bobby killed twelve Gears while surrounded, was stabbed three times, and had two arrows from his chest, and died of exhaustion from fighting, not from blood loss or anything. As a reader, I hope you are somehow perceptive to this. I hope you see through the facades of stories, and realize the truth of this endeavor to immortalize one of humanity's best forays. Without that actuality to the stories, they're nothing more, but without that illustrious frill and spice, it wouldn't be worth telling.**

**And through telling a story, not only I, but also those who told me, and even if I experienced it, can have different ideas or visions of the same event. From this, I only can give the best, unbiased idea of the events as I can, leaving you, the reader, the ultimate decision in truth or not. For the sake of reality and my own morality to tell the story as purely as I can, I implore you to read between the lines, decipher what you can and what you feel is the truth, and let that be the events, not strictly written here. Yet, I know what you must be thinking. If you heard it, we know it is from Ky or Quint, you said that at the beginning, but who are you? Did you experience any of it? Even if I did experience it, what difference would it make in the story telling? I can't tell you the exact events, because they may only be what I saw, not the truth of it all, of what Bob saw of the same event. **

**The only way to truly know what is true and not is to get an unbiased view, that sees all and knows all. Yep, you know whom I mean, the Big Guy upstairs. But, He isn't going to write a Newer Testament to fit in after the New Testament about the Crusades and humanities war against its own creations. So, humans are left with that responsibility in giving the history a story. If He did, where's the point in reality? That's what I want you, the reader to have. Reality to my story. I can't give the omnipotent view of the story, the perfect angle, and the unbiased, unadulterated truth in every way. And if I did present that, I don't think you, as a reader, would enjoy it. So, look upon this writing not as truth, but rather as one view. One stance, one idea, and one little slice of the truth. By the end of the story, you'll know where this slice comes from, whose ideas these are, and whose view point it is. You'll know, and even though this will be boisterous, I think I present the best view of it that can be given from a human, so enjoy what I have to say, because only God can out do this. In truth or actual presentation, maybe He can't, but in unadulterated content, he can, and that may be the most important part of a story. Or, it may be how much a story is fun, and actually is a story, not the truth. You decide.**

Slowly, they tread on. Plodding steps in unison, afraid to break line, for the repercussions of that unsaid law, to an unseen court, to an unjust death, from an unreal fear of that penalty. Even Quint, the self-appointed rebel of the group since his rude awakening, fell into accordance of the law, and walked his share without verbosity. The nine total soldiers walked slow, periodically one grumbling, saying a prayer, a little grunt, a sigh, a sniffle, a choke on the thoughts of the dead seeping up through the air to stab them into remembrance, and a constant, irrefutable plod of footsteps. Finally, they came to the gap left in the floor by Ky's destruction of it on the retreat earlier. The hole on the other side was traversed with a broken railing beam used as a high wire to crawl across. This time, it was bigger, and there was no item to help them cross; their railing beam had since fallen down to Floor B among the wreckage.

"Well, we're S.O.L." Quint said mockingly, looking over the edge of the crevice, spitting in, and watching it fall twenty feet before it hit Floor B, which had the scattered clumps of cement, guarding wire, bodies, and dust settling over it in the entire expanse of the gap. Pieces of exposed guide wire were bent in charred circles on the edge of each side of the thirty foot gap, and chunks of cement were shattered below, the entire three-foot thick floor lying in pieces below, as well as a fine white dust, like snow, from the destroyed Floor C catwalk. Instantly in Ky, Quint's words spurned a deep seeded hatred, the three letters reminding him of why he suddenly hated Quint so much. Not the insubordination, not the anger with the Seikishidan and wanting to leave, but that he was playing a thematic role that Sol Badguy had, not but four months ago. **More on him later, he's a big part, but not yet.**

"We're going to jump down" Ky said slowly, looking at the drop, all nine of the soldiers lining up along the break in the floor, including Kiske. "It's the only way." The catwalk was about twenty feet wide, and accommodated heavy traffic from both directions, as the Seikishidan H.Q. was a busy place.

"Hey Kiske, that's about twenty feet down. We'll break a leg, and I don't want to carry you" Quint said, smirking as he looked at Ky from his comment. Ky opened his mouth to retort, when suddenly, a soldier next to Quint spoke first.

"Hey, Darton, right? Give the Commander time, he'll find a way, until then, just be quiet, please. Thank you," he said, without Quint's response, and turning back to Ky to hear his response. The soldier was older than most, a bit of gray hair working its way underneath his jet black hair. Both of his eyes were calm, soothing, like a long ocean in front of a surreal painter, who put the amazing picture to opiate bliss. His words were like butter, smooth and relaxing, and his tone was mellow, somewhat convincing to his tone, but neither enforcing.

"And who the hell are you?"

"Jaygus, sergeant second class." He said, extending his hand to Quint. Quint shook his outstretched palm hesitantly, mostly because of how polite and respectful the man was, despite Quint being outwardly rude and disrespectful, and even trying to get the other soldiers on nerve, but this one seemed nice regardless, like some sort of necessity. He was the only sergeant amongst the group, the rest was two lieutenants, and five privates, including Quint Darton, and then there was Commander Ky Kiske.

"Well, as Jaygus said, whatcha got, Commander?" Quint said, mockingly.

"We're jumping down. Seikishidan training book, chapter twelve, section three, traversing large falls and obstacles in a group, gentlemen. We have one person take flank off of the edge of the large drop, then the next person climbs down the other, and holds the ankles. If they can drop down, then they're going to catch every following, and the one person who was first to hold, gets to drop second, a new pair traversing next, until all is completed. In an odd number, the last person without a pair hangs off the edge, then drops to be caught by all the rest below."

"Textbook answer, Kiske." Darton said. He stood up straight, then arched his back in a backward, stretching his spine. "Well, what are we waiting for?"

"Nothing," Jaygus said, turning around, and stepping off of the edge, his face towards the walkway they just came across, and grabbing a chunk of the cement that jutted out in his right hand, and a guiding wire protruding from the cement in the other. "Quint, protocol, you're next" he said slowly. Quint moaned, and then stepped down the side of the sudden drop, his foot finding a little nook next to Jaygus face, a bit too close. Once he had both feet firm, his top half of his body over the edge of the floor, the seven remaining looking at him, he dropped down, snatching Jaygus' hips as he fell backwards. Jaygus grunted a little, tightening his grip, and then slowly, Quint slid down his body, both hands clutching to his ankles, then dropping off, making a thud on the ground.

"…Ouch" Quint slowly said, standing up, dusting himself off, and kicking a few pieces of rubble from the landing zone. He stood below Jaygus slowly, nodding to him to fall, and then, Quint caught him as he let go of his holds, nearly throwing Quint on the ground a second time. They both stood up, re-brushing themselves off, yelling above to the crowd who looked down at how to do it. "Next" Quint said. All of the following soldiers went in pairs, doing the textbook survival procedure.

**In the Seikishidan, I already said how children join up, are educated, taught how to survive and fight, but they are rigorously taught. Being able to recite perfect places of how to survive, as Ky did, it central to part of being a leader. Know it all, be a teacher, be a role model. The Seikishidan taught God, how to kill Gears, how to survive, and how to be a man. They weren't discriminatory against other religions, but tried to convert any other joining to Roman Catholicism, and there weren't many other religions in the world left from the war and heavy hand of the Seikishidan. The survival methods were descended from survivalists all the way back to Neanderthal times, some being barbaric, others common sense, and some quite useful, such as certain ways to evade Gear sentries, a smokeless fire by using trench pits, and a way to bring magic out of living organisms with rudimentary tools, providing minimal heat, when conducted through enough metal, which was the exact amount in a standard Seikishidan sword. Weird how it all worked out, eh?**

**As I said earlier, magic isn't as magical as it was made out to be in history and fairy tales. It's a resource, like the barbaric oil, or the rare electric current. Between every quark, every atom, every gravitational force, exists "magic". In itself, it is what holds things together. Magnetism, matter, all of it is based off of magic principles that hold things together themselves. Dispersing atoms or adding charge is just an adverse effect of magic, which was usually just thought of as static charge, extra electricity, which it was. Though, what old scientists ever realized was WHAT exactly causes the extra electricity, what caused the electricity to have two polarities, not five? Magic itself controlled all of this, although it is intransient, odorless, colorless, impossible to touch, see, or harness.**

**The first real iteration of magic to man was in Hiroshima, Japan, in 1945. The dropping of the first atomic bomb created the first ever controlled plasma energy source, which was basically what stars use to power their fusion reactors that make them so purdy. But, this was basically raw magic, given properties of heat by the atoms used to go critical mass in the bomb itself. The bombs radioactive isotope gave the plasma density and reality, but the plasma was inherently super condensed magic. Once the bombs effects were gone, such as the immediate blast wave and mushroom of radioactivity, the magic settled into any atom it could find, bonding inside the quarks, inside of the very air, soil, and radioactivity. Which is why magic is everywhere, everything. To harness it in nature is an arduous task, but could save one's life, if used properly. The exact secrets, I don't know, as I wasn't a member of the Seikishidan, and they keep most of those survival tactics hidden to only those who join, but what I do know I got from an old library in Italy.**

**It was destroyed, somehow still standing, besides the three craters through it from bombs, the books left on the ground to rot, shelves destroyed. I spent a total of five days in that library, just reading. Learning science, old mathematics, reading on some old literature, even some history about a man who shared my name and sent an interesting "telegraph" that sparked a war not unlike this one, and I educated myself in that short time. I took three books home with me, that I never cease to respect. The rest of the books were probably destroyed in subsequent battles at the place, but what I have, I thank God for. I'm getting a bit ahead of myself. You may ask, why bombs? Wasn't this a Gear war? It is, but wasn't always.**

**In the first days of the war, mankind still had its technological weapons. Guns, bombs, a lot of vehicles, flying ships, naval destroyers, and humanity used all of them on the Gears. The Crusades were nearly ended in 2099, as a massive full scale bombardment and invasion with the last remaining artillery in the world was expelled onto the Gear threat, from satellite imaging to find where they were, to laser targeting for the weapons. The former United States even used the atomic bomb that spawned magic itself. This was all in vain though, as Justice, being interconnected to the satellites, having links to the computer networks and digital information, knew of the plans. The attack was in Oslo. No Gears were there, the invasion failed; the entire thing was a waste of humanity's last resources. A trap was set, and all of the soldiers were massacred, save for a lucky few. One of them is quite important, but we'll get to that later. I've taken too much of a jaunt from the story, trying to tell you, my ignorant reader, of the world which I live in, the vibrant history, mankind at its best and worst.**

The last soldier to make the drop was Ky, and he was the odd man out. He stood at top, to make sure every soldier got down before him. Quint attributed this to his fear of falling, as he would have attributed anything negative to Ky.

"In an odd number, the last person without a pair hangs off the edge, then drops to be caught by all the rest below," Jaygus repeated Ky words. The seven soldiers converged to form a sort of net for Ky, all wanting to be equally thanked by the savior of mankind for catching him, except for Quint, who started walking forward, to the staircase at the end of Floor B, which was still half a mile off. Ky dropped off the edge, his hands releasing from the three-quarters inch metal guide wire that had run through the cement before its encasing was blown to bits hours earlier, and his other hand found a small pocket in the cement, the mass of Seikishidan below giving him a mattress to land in. He slowly got up, brushing the dust off of himself, as every new soldier to hit the ground on Floor B was met with a cyclone of dust from the silt and tiny particles loosened by Kiske's projectile a few hours earlier.

"Move out" he said confidently to the rest of the soldiers, who all saluted him, right hand coming above their eyebrow in a straight angle, then shooting it out, their eyes slightly angled above Ky. **One thing in Seikishidan code was never to look at the commander in the eyes. Ever. Always look above his head, jutting your chin slightly out, and presenting yourself better. Not to mention looking Ky Kiske straight in the eyes would presume that person was an equal with him, which just wasn't so, with the human Atlas, holder of mankind on his shoulders.**

Ky hurried his pace a little, distancing himself from the following soldiers, and Quint, who was already ahead. Slowly, Ky caught up to Quint, walking alongside him for a short distance.

"We're moving out," Ky said, looking forward, still walking.

"I heard you" Quint said.

"Well, what do you have on Floor C?" Ky asked, his voice low. The conversation thus far had been null on the walking, but since Quint was such an odd character in the cookie-cutter mold soldier that the Seikishidan had, Kiske needed to know a few things.

"Something that means a lot to me." Quint responded, looking forward as he walked, neither making eye contact.

"And forsaking the Seikishidan and God is not important to you?"

"Obviously not, I quit, remember?" Quint said, a slight malicious chuckle in his words. He turned to look at Ky with his last statement, searching for his response of hate, which came soon, as Ky looked back at him, his eyes turning to slits, both making eye contact, on level with each other. Then, Kiske walked forward faster, to pass Quint, who kept his steady pace. Slowly, the bulk of the soldiers behind, distancing themselves about five feet from Kiske, met with Quint, and assimilated him into their small group, walking silently. Most of them had adverse feelings about Quint, particularly because of how he treated Kiske, and forsook the Seikishidan, but still, they kept walking forward, and as long as Kiske was in the front, most didn't care where Quint was. He was still a strong arm to fight with, despite his now browned blood along his right arm from the laceration he suffered earlier that day.

Their walking paid off, and in about twenty minutes, they came upon the stairwell on the far side of the headquarters. Ky took the first step up, surveying the way up, then motioning with his hand to follow. Jaygus followed, then both lieutenants, and the privates last. The stairwell was an old metal, a mixed steel, that shined in the light, but looked plain black in shadow. From silver to midnight, it changed as the shadows of the men walking up played over it. The clanks of their boots on the metal, littered with holes for traction and style, to be more militaristic, had little spikes on the edges and holes, like grating. The boots dug into them, with the half-inch sole of a tough, armor grade rubber that could be nearly slashed by a sword, and reform its natural shape without a scratch, so long as it didn't cut through the sole into the boot. Perfect for all terrain, it gripped everything, was durable, and water repellant. They say it was somewhat magic inspired in its creation of the unnatural rubber ion, but whatever the reason, it sure as hell beat the contemporary shoe, which was nearly unchanged from the ones before the Crusades.

"We have a problem," Ky said, the soldiers looking up to see him already halfway up the Floor C stairway, on his way to Floor D. The soldiers filed out onto Floor C, looking up the stairwell further up to see Ky, walking back down. "The Floor D stairwell has been collapsed in. It is impossible to get through, they piled rubble over the top, mangled the stairwell, and caved in the walls."

"Pretty thorough job, for a Gear." Darton mused, stepping off the stairway from Floor B to Floor C, recognizing the few bodies and terrain from earlier, before he passed out. They were back at where the end of Floor C wrapped around.

"Where's your room on Floor C, Darton?" Ky asked, a bit of malice on his tongue, but everyone, including Jaygus and Darton becoming accustomed to that anger in his tone only with the defiant private.

"C-403." Quint responded sharply, his tongue spitting it out like a jab of a fencing sword. Quick, precise, and aptly aimed with its tone and execution.

"Fine, we'll think of something while you go to get whatever it is."

"Aren't you afraid I'll run off and not return?"

"Why? You're no longer part of the Seikishidan, you're of no use to me." Ky said sharply, parrying the stab of Quint's previous attack with a very decisive blow.

"Fine." Darton said, somewhat defeated, turning and walking off. The frills of his Seikishidan coat kicked up in his wake of boots, wrapping around the heels of every step, and the small bits of debris thrown back by each proceeding step being caught in the long overcoat, draining behind him, like a stream. The Gear sword he had sheathed on his side banged against his leg with every rhythmic step. Left leg forward, it leaned back along his calf, right step, it jumped forward in predictable common movement, as was his walk. Bringing his hands up to his face, he brushed his bangs out from in front of his face. They were stringy and felt like dry wheat grass, the sweat from before drying out and leaving them dehydrated, as well as a bit matted, and plainly, in the way. His gauntlets, consisting of a leather arm sock, to the elbow joint, with two pieces of unbreakable, lightweight plastic, color coded to rank, and latched together with three consecutive belts, rubbed on his face, had a mild discomfort by roughing on his skin, but nothing bad.

Ky watched him walk off, each step echoing back to smash Ky, for his decision to release a soldier that they needed, but also that Quint could be so defiant. Then again, where _could_ he go? The walkway on Floor C was destroyed, he wouldn't go back down to Floor B, and he had better chances of survival with the pack. Kiske turned to face the group, who sat on pieces of rubble, leaned against walls, and everything else.

"Sir, what should we do?" Jaygus asked with that sincere undeniable niceness that seemed to be all his own, none saved for anyone else, so he used every drop in every syllable and action.

"Well…" Ky said, hesitating in his answer. He looked at the slowly disappearing Quint, who got smaller with every step toward the C-403 room, then turned back to the group of soldiers focused on him. "There's a secret store room built into Floor C to Floor E. It has a tram elevator inside, connecting the floors. It houses a lot of resources, materials, uniforms, and whatever else we don't currently need. It's basically a secret warehouse, and bomb shelter that was built when this base was, but has since become obsolete. I don't know if the elevator works, but it's our only shot." Ky said, laying the plans out flat.

"And we didn't know about this little secret warehouse because…" a lieutenant asked.

"Because it wasn't in the immediate concern of the soldiers. Now, it must be used, and so you know. Also, along the way, we can pick up supplies, and other things we need. Some of it may be outdated, spoiled, and who knows what else, considering it is outdated, but it is better than nothing. We're gonna need a bit of rest, so we'll aim for it on the elevator ride up, as seeing that as far as I know, it is slow, very, very slow, but it can pull great amounts of weight, so it was designed for a purpose. The two floors should provide an hour, maybe two of rest before we move out."

"Sounds good, sir. Are we moving out now, or should we wait for Mr. Darton?" Jaygus asked politely. Ky looked back to the walkway where Darton left down, not being able to see him nor his shadow, and then back at the group, searching everyone of their vapid eyes, then Jaygus' blissful ones.

"….Now." Ky said with a bit of reserved forcefulness. He took a few steps forward, his sword in sheath, in perfect sequence with every step he took, the other soldiers standing up, collecting removed gauntlets and swords, snapping it all up, getting ready, and walking after Ky with no argument. Something was odd about the soldiers though. Not their demeanor at leaving Quint, or their removal of equipment while resting, but their garbs themselves. **Monks wore large draping gowns, as well as hoods. The Seikishidan standard outfit was a descendant of this ministerial design, but more adapted to combat and versatility. The holy white on most of the suits was draped in crimson on the edges, splotches here and there, drops and lines, all of the blood from dying and dead, human and Gear, telling their fate on the blouses of the living. Even Ky, with his azure trimmed uniform had his share of fading crimson into brown, yet he shared that like a medal of honor, as all of the soldiers did on their uniform. **Jaygus however was slow to stand, looking at Ky walk along the opposite side of Floor C, and Darton still missing from his tour de force to C-403. He stood there for about a minute, looking back and forth, before starting his walk after the end of Ky's small group of soldiers, heading to where ever the entrance was. _Hurry up, Mr. Darton, and don't be too late for the elevator._

**_-X- Author's Notes –X-_**  
- Zeronova's Notes  
- There's Chapter 6. In the next few weeks, I will have less and less time on the computer, as I am in the middle of a move (same state). I will keep all of my writing on a floppy, make visits to the library to check my thousands of reviews (just kidding), and to write up what I need. I promise there will not be a slow in the Monday updates. Also, thanks to Samuraiter for letting me use Jaygus. Kind of cool to link stories, showing a sort of fan-canon world being built, as he will be using Quint in the near future in Identity One. This was an author intervention chapter, as I like the character of the author, and he has some great analysis and background. The next two weeks I am going to be in Alabama, and when this is posted, Samuraiter will have posted it, as well as next week's, so thanks to him for it. By the time of Chapter 8, I will be back and kicking. Stay tuned next Monday, for the next exciting episode of Desolate Gail: Dual Enmity! Dun dun dun!  
**_-X- End Author's Notes –X-_**


	7. Arc 1: Insubordination denied

**_-X- Introduction -X-_**_  
- Desolate Gail__ Redux_  
_ - Started on: 5-17-2004 / Posted on: 6-28-2004 / Checked on: 3-9-2005  
- By: Zeronova  
- Chapter 7: Insubordination denied_

_- _Text: Third person, Narration  
- _Text_: First person, Thoughts  
- **Text**: Interjection, the Narrator****

**_X- End Introduction -X-_**

_Where was it…where was it…_ Quint rifled through his locker in the dark, the overhead lights off because of a lack of electricity from the internal generators in some hidden room on Floor A. The Gears probably destroyed the lines or the generators themselves, whichever didn't matter, Quint wasn't going to be coming back here to help the rebuilding process, if any. Cities that were destroyed were razed and built on top of, or the next one was built a mile to the side. Berlin had been destroyed three times, Pairs five, Dresden four times (they're in the middle of a rebuild, actually), but the only city that had withstood every Gear attack was Neo-Troy, on the border of Italy and France, as well as Warsaw, despite that Warsaw had been razed many times, just not lost to the enemy. **More on that later. So many things to come, I must have said "More on that later" about six or seven times thus far, but dear reader, all in due time.**

A small sliver of light pierced the darkness with its fading ambience from the doorway. At the beginning of the day, when Quint first walked out of that door, it was morning; though the sun was overcast, with a high noon stare of pure centrality, median of all things, shining down upon man and Gear, the fogs rolled around the dead and dying in the fields outside of the Seikishidan. Now, the sun was in the setting phase, an hour of fighting past, then a few while resting, and the recurring walks. It's new angle let it shine freely down into Quint's room, the skylight only in the center of the ceiling of Floor F, but the sun angled so that it shined directly down onto it, pointing it out, a small beacon to God that this stands the man who defied your destined leader, Ky Kiske.

Darton took use of the invading light. Setting up the Gear sword in the doorway, he leaned it against a wall, the light reflecting off of it a little to light a darkened portion of the room. His locker was under one of the bunks, positioned about six feet off of the ground with a set of lockers underneath it, eight bunks in the room with eight lockers, none to ever be slept in again by those who had in the morning. The setting in effect of the dead had been slow to come, and numbing to those who had survived, but pushing it back into oblivion would be imperative to survive, though apathy of the dead would only make their lives a meaningless waste. Quint himself didn't care for any of the soldiers in his room, or really anyone in the entire Order for that matter, but to simply never see any of their faces again, to never hear them talking about home, was a somewhat empty feeling inside. _Come on, stay focused._

He threw out a handful of soiled garments from his locker, scattering them on the floor in the small sliver of light. Laundry pick up comes three times a week, Monday, Wednesday, and Saturday. He had laundry to be done, but still some unused garments left, suggesting he was a day before the carts came by and jostled each room for their garments. Groping through the shirts and clothing, Quint threw it out of the light as soon as he found that it held not what he searched for. Reaching into the darkened side of the room again, he pulled out another handful of clothing from the unorganized locker. Tossing it on the ground, he knew he had it, hearing a distinct thud on the cold, hard cement ground. Wiggling his hand through sleeves and collars, he finally felt his hands brush up against the cooler steel of what he wanted, and removed it from its polyester sanctuary.

"There you are, baby" he said slowly, bringing it up to his mouth, and kissing it tenderly, his eyes closing a little as he did. He slowly slid it into his belt, next to his buckle, and stood up to go to the door. Grabbing up the Gear sword, the light flickered out from the dark side of the room, escaping it, probably never to return. He smelled the air, dank and musty, air never to be breathed by anyone again. One last look, and he walked out, carrying the door behind him, the locks clicking in place, and all light bidding farewell to items never again to be grazed by its ambience.

The sun seemed to target him from the sunroof, like a laser target to drop a bomb, blinding him slightly as he stepped from C-403 into the hallway. A dead Seikishidan was slumped against the wall right next to the door, eyes looking upward in a deathly gaze.

"Hey man, don't look at the sun, you'll go blind" Quint said slowly, closing the eyelids of the soldier. Darton stepped over a broken piece of cement, kicked up from a crater five feet in front of him, like a long lost piece of a puzzle. He could see where it fit in, and where it had been kicked back a Gear from the small collapse in the ground. Stepping forward, over man and Gear, he slowly made his way forward, towards the end of Floor C where Kiske and the rest should have been waiting. **Suffice to say, I don't want to write every step he takes. So, we'll skip ahead a little.**

After a while, Quint came up to the start of the semi circle at the end of Floor C, where it wrapped around to connect both of the right and left catwalks on Floor C, with the stairway in pieces and no soldiers in sight. Slowly, Quint stepped forward, over pieces of rubble he could distinctly remember a soldier sitting on earlier, and a wall where he knew Jaygus was sitting.

"They left, eh?" he said, looking around himself, to reassure none were hiding. "Fine, I'll find my own way out of here." He said confidently, trying to hold back the anxiety of going at it alone.

* * *

"Sir, I do not think it wise to have left." Jaygus said to Ky, walking directly behind him. 

"I stand by my decision. As a sergeant, you should understand my orders are final."

"Yes sir, I do, but maybe one of us should go back to see if he is there, then catch up to the group." Ky stopped his pace, all of the subsequent ones also.

"Lose another man to find one who disgraces God? I am not willing to lose another soldier to try and save Darton. We continue on, until we reach the tram elevator." Jaygus was defeated by Kiske's superiority in the situation, despite Jaygus being nearly twenty years older. Jaygus took one final look back to the now dimming walkway of Floor C, before entering a side room, searching for Quint, and his vision not finding the soldier. Stepping inside the small officer's room, Jaygus spectated it with eyes of amusement, to find where this hidden warehouse was. This officer's room had been in use for many years. Kind of like a small office room, it had a telephone system, that worked only within the Seikishidan headquarters, complete with six buttons on the top, labeled A, B, C, D, E, and F. After inputting he floor, a room number was required, although only other officer rooms had telephones. There was an officer's room every fifty dorms, which were more like nannies to the soldiers. Urgent information, a new assignment, moving of room, they did all of that work, and the dreaded laundry.

The soldiers set themselves upon the chairs, tops of the desk, on the sofa, and wherever, while Kiske went to finding the entrance to the warehouse.

"This feels like on of those old films where they'd pull on the candlestick, and the wall would rotate." A soldier said, a stifled laugh from the others around him.

"Lucky you've seen those old movies. Speak lightly of them, because few have. Once this war's over, I'm gonna make a hundred movies, and they'll be epic love stories, gruesome war battles, and they'll be the best thing anyone's ever seen." One soldier said with a little bit of hope in his voice.

"Why don't you make it on me then?" the other soldier joked.

"Because no one would fall in love with your ugly mug," he joked back. All of the soldiers, including Kiske, let out a little laugh, although Ky tried to hide his, considering a leader shouldn't show weakness or compassion, he needs to be level headed and make the best decisions for all. The soldiers' laughs died out, a little levity to every bad situation always helps, and this situation, with thousands dead and their chances of survival dropping every minute, a laugh, a little happiness was imperative.

"The warehouse could possibly have Gears in it" Ky warned, turning to face all of the soldiers.

"Didn't we kill all of them, sir?" a private asked.

"If we had gone up against all of the Gears back there, we'd be dead. No, some of them held back. Survey the area, move up floors, and secure key structural points. I don't doubt Justice knows what he is doing." Ky said slowly and methodically.

"It's dark, very dark in there. The electricity was knocked out, and it's a windowless room, as the entire Seikishidan is, save for the skylight. It is a warehouse, however, so there will be flares, food, extra clothes, and whatever else we need, supposing we can find it. Light is becoming scarce, and we must rely on using light reflected from the single doorway to the outside. You three," Ky said, pointing to the three privates "put one sword in the doorway to reflect light, next sword in the doorway to the warehouse, and third at an angle of the second. I'll be calling out for light, so the third soldier must turn when called to the superior officers providing that light. Clear?" Ky said. _When we get out of here, I'm adding this to the survival manual_.

Then, Ky turned around to a wall. There was a small wire box where the phone's wire went into the wall, except it was a small raised cube, about six inches by four inches in plane, and three inches in width. Ky brought the hilt of the Thunderseal up, and bashed on the small protrusion on the wall, which just looked like a simple electric wire guide box. The drywall cracked, splintered, and finally fell off, leaving a light white dust floating in the air. Using his glove, Kiske slowly wiped off the surface where the box was covering.

A small digital pad with a small LED counter above surfaced itself off of the plaster and paint, hidden behind the façade wire box. Ky pushed a small green button, the red LED screen flickering to life, and then typing in a five number sequence, which was unknown, except for the beeps that coincided with each number pressed, as he covered it with his body. Secrets of the Order that no one should know. Next to him, a portion of the wall cracked, the crack widening, running along the side, another crack opening on the opposite side and jumping along till they met, and ran alongside each other, cracking wall, splintering, white dust falling off and joining the rest, until a door shaped frame was revealed by the cracks. Atlas punched the center of the dry-wall cracked frame, his hand going straight through it, and white dust flying out along his arm from the dry wall. He felt inside with his hand, then removed it, taking the entire door frame in the wall with him, revealing a metallic doorway, locked with three sequential circular locks, pressurized and electronically locked.

Shrugging the piece of wall off of his hand, it dropped to the ground, sending a plume of dust at the soldiers sitting behind. The three inter-locked circular locks jumped to life, a bit of normal dust, as opposed to the dust created by destroying the wall, as they clicked to life, moving in one-hundred-and-eighty-degree motions, then both pieces of the lock separating, all three following each other in perfect rhythm. Then, the door slid open, slowly, like death. **They say when something is anticipated and feared, time moves slower, you see every detail, every little sound becomes a boom, and you can't move. The door was already moving slowly to the left, but with these added fears, it was almost an eternity in the eyes of the soldiers.** Ky stood defiantly in front of the door, the threat of Gears all too real, knowing he could be impaled before he could blink. The darkness greeted him from inside the door, the sliding entrance slowly clicking fully open as it found solace in the wall, hiding from the darkness that Ky challenged. Stale air jumped out at him, air that had been sealed in for decades, unused and unknown. Ky was terrified, he was about to piss himself if anything made the slightest noise from inside the room, but he couldn't show fear, not in front of the soldiers.

The difference of pressure in the rooms when the door opened created a small vacuum, the stale air pouring in onto the soldiers, a few coughing, others acting like it was nothing, when they all could smell the repugnance invading their nostrils. Ky breathed in deep, not to be macho to the soldiers and show he could take the stale air, but to reassure himself before he did something real ballsy. He took a step forward into the darkness, then another, each step easier than the last, his fear exponentially increasing as the darkness seeped into the void he made behind him as he walked, enclosing him alone.

"Privates!" he yelled authoritatively, motioning for them to execute his luminance plan. They all rushed in, unafraid, as Ky had been, setting up their three swords where they were told. One in the doorway to the room, leading from the Floor C catwalk, one in the doorway of the warehouse, and one standing about ten feet out from the door, where Ky was, to direct the light around, as a center to direct the radius of light wherever the soldiers called. The private ran up next to Ky, saying the appropriate "sir" and a nod, then putting his sword, tip down, lightly onto the floor, so the light from the previous two soldiers swords reflected off of his. Kiske turned to the one remaining private, two lieutenants and the sergeant, gave them a nod, and they all instantly entered the secret warehouse, finding crates, boxes, and anything else that could in any way benefit the Seikishidan, or the eight of them. _Please God, give us time to find things we need._

* * *

"I'm leader, I do what I want, I'm sixteen yet I have more power than you'll ever have, look at my fucking shiny blue sword…." Quint mused in a vehement whisper. "Bastards left me to die, find my way out. 'Leave the ex-Seikishidan member!' Goddamn bastards…" Quint waked slowly, over carcass and death, his head down, not in shame or fear, but in anger to not look up. Walking along the opposite side of Floor C, he surmised they must have come this way, because if they went by C-403, he'd know. He kept a steady pace, head at the ground, every crack, face, pool of blood, haggard (and smelly) Gear body, all of it being taken in by his wandering eyes, though none of it really permeated him as much as it should have. Blood, death, gore, destruction, none of it seemed to have that adverse effect it has on most, were they can't stand it, cry, throw up, question themselves. Not Quint, he just plain didn't care. 

"Whazzat?" he slurredly said, picking up a small sound, reaching for his stolen Gear sword, from the carcass near the cargo bay. _Tap, tap, tap._ There it is again, closer. Quint threw his head around, looking for the source of the sound, it being from above, then below, then next to him, and then a mile away. The echo of the enclosed, domed off Parisian Seikishidan H.Q., built into the side of the hill, was a technical masterpiece of architecture and planning, but it echoed everything. It sounded somewhat mechanic, a _tap, tap, tap_ every few seconds, no other noise, just that slow tap. _There!_ A tap-tap-tap echoed to his right, and he turned to face it, only the solitary nothing greeting where he looked. He stepped forward cautiously, each step on his toes, silent, his blade raised to stab on a second's notice, standard Seikishidan training. **I really don't know how to describe this in writing, much less than actually depicting it, which ruins some of the climax, so bear with me, dear reader.**

Each step he took forward distanced him from his real enemy. A Gear slowly crawled off of the side of Floor D, around the railing, and over the edge, sticking to the ceiling with small claws that dug into the cement like cardboard. Darton kept his silent walk forward steady, eyes swiveling back and forth, left to right, his backside unguarded. Very slowly, each step mocking Quint's, the Gear came closer, each claw digging through the cement with deadly, pin-point accuracy, making sure not to make the slightest sound in the dead corridors, not to let any pebbles fall. It moved on all fours, but had its body spread flat, like a spider. It technically had five arms, since an abnormal cancerous growth on the side of its ribcage was protruding out, the formings of a hand coming, nubs of fingers, and probably just a lifeless prostrate. Quint kept his eyes focused on what was, or wasn't, in front of him, and inadvertently stepped on the mangled arm of a Gear, bone crunching, blood gurgling out from ripped skin that tore like paper from the mutation and death, turning green with the mortality it had expended setting in. Quint jumped at the sound, spinning. His blood pumped adrenaline, eyes were shaky, hands gripping tighter and tighter on his sword while his breath jumped rapidly, and for no cause, except that burst of action running through his blood like a mutual parasite, both getting what they need from each other. Quint, the rush, the adrenaline, a host.

But, that adrenaline would not go to waste, because as he turned, the Gear also recognized that its number was up, and flipped off of the ceiling of Floor C, which was the underside of the bottom of Floor D. Landing with a deafening smack on the floor of Floor C, its hind legs crushed in the ribcage and leg of a dead body, the blood leaking out and over the edge of Floor C to drip constantly, a mathematical perfection to the procession of each drop, previous and proceeding. A loud roar emitted the Gear, who was missing an eye, a few teeth, and a mandible. Like nails on a chalkboard or running an engine with no oil, it made Quint jump back, both from ferocity, his own fear magnified, and the God-awful sound. After the war cry, he heard no more, the adrenaline pumping more than blood. He couldn't control himself as he ran; he was going on primal instinct. No reason, no morality could stop him, he was feral.

The Gear loped itself forward in each run, its body being thrown up and down by the hind and forward legs swinging like a pendulum to cover ground. Darton, bringing the Gear sword out, held it with the bottom of the handle facing the Gear, his left hand holding the blade, which was pointed behind him, parallel with the ground. They ran about fifty feet to meet each other at twenty-five, bodies and weapons underneath their feet being crushed and used as plateaus for the next step, neither caring about them nor worrying. In a fluid motion, the Gears forward legs reached out to take another step, digging into the ground, the hind ones jumping ahead of the fore, then the fore reaching out forward as the hind pushed off of the ground in a pounce. Quint, with his sword in running stance, was pushed forward and up in a swing by his left, as his right gripped onto the handle of the sword. His thrust upward with his left threw the blade into a diagonal slash forward and down to the right, turning his entire body with the blade to conserve his momentum for a second horizontal swing. The Gear was cut down to the ground with the first swing, blade cutting through its shoulder, removing an arm, and slamming it into the concrete from its pounce. Instinctively, it jumped up to attack Quint, and was met by the second horizontal slash of the blade, removing its head. The body toppled backwards, head tumbling off, rolling, and then falling off of Floor C between the slats in the railing.

"Shit," Quint mumbled, after regaining control of himself, panting with the adrenaline thinning. He felt like throwing up, going to sleep, and just falling to the ground as the parasitic adrenaline drained from the now worthless host. He hated the adrenaline swing, from high to low, because it was ten times worse than a hangover. He jumped to the edge of the railing, leaning over, breathing hard and propping himself up not to slump over. The head with no jaw fell silently, the few strands of graying hair on the head like arrows pointing up, yet descending, and reaching out to Quint to stop it. Then, _bang-thud_, it hit Floor A with a smash of its impact, then liquidation of the flesh into a red pulp. "Now they're definitely going to kill me," Quint said sarcastically, throwing himself off of the railing he was leaning on, adrenaline finding out that the host was actually worthy, and pumping again as Quint sprinted to find where the hell Ky was. He could already hear the husky voices of oncoming Gears, their distant cries, the ­tap-tap-tap of their feet into the cement. And there were a lot coming, and from where he couldn't tell because of the echo, but from what he could hear, a lot.

Each footstep followed the next, his mouth instantly sucking in wind. For the little rest they had, he hadn't gained a lot of strength back, but that is why adrenaline was so important. With each step, it pumped thicker than his blood, his eyes going hazy around the edges, and his conscious losing reality, focused on the pure rush of energy surging through him, the sounds of Gears behind and all around propelling him to run harder. He scurries of them above, tap of their claws running along the cement, deep breaths from ragged jaws with loose skin on their faces, the inhuman quality of the beasts, like a pack of carnivores on the hunt, except Gears didn't eat, didn't sleep, only followed orders until their body simply fell over dead, which happened every so often, which is why new ones were made to replace them. The Gears were expendable, but were numbered in years, since they were mutations, abominations, completely adverse to the Darwinian theory of survival of the fittest, because they were the most fit of all organisms on the planet, yet were also the most unfit for survival at the same time**. The irony of it all, central to this story, runs through everything in this war, in this world.**

Quint had no idea of how to tell one room from the other, the small bronze plates on each door with a C, for the floor, and the numbers increasing with every door flying past him with every step forward. He didn't dare look back, to see where the Gears were coming from, or how close, for not only would it be demoralizing, he was scared to look, and would be further scared to see. He ran farther, harder, each step being a stride longer than the last, his toes reaching further to grasp more ground with each step further away from the Gears who seemed to breathe down his neck, swarming in from every direction he could think, considering his eyes dare not find the pursuers. Yet, he knew. He could _feel_ them, their presence. **In war, and in times of stress, certain things become familiar to the soldier. Death, regrettably, being one of them. Being close to a Gear had a feeling, a clammy, deathly feeling, knowing that this creature was linked to Justice, scourge of humanity, reason of over four and a half billion deaths, and knowing that this once was a being, probably one opposed to Justice, and now killing for him. The smell, the air becoming clammy, the presence, no real distinction about being near them distinguishes it, but something more…intuitive. Something one can feel once they know it, something that crawls up and down your spine in search of hitting the nerve it knows causes fear, and it often finds it, but the Gears were that certain crawling specimen, and even if no distinct reason why the person should or could know they were near, someway, somehow, if after combat and getting used to it, a soldier knew. They just knew.**

Somewhere along the sprint, Quint eyed a small door opened, and a white coat leaning out of it. Running at his frantic pace, his eyes blurring everything as he pushed harder and harder, a bit of fleeting light from above shining amber into the headquarters from the setting sun above. Painting everything a golden brown, most of the white interior, now cracked, destroyed, and defaced with bodies and blood, the holy sun, created by God during the seven days, was not quite as holy as it should be. God shining down upon all with a far light was true, the pouring gold lighting up dead man and dead Gear alike, yet faces of dead men paled further in the radiance, bodies of Gears seeming to shirk from the light, even though dead. **So, God looked down upon both Gears and humans, favoring neither, helping neither, making the Seikishidan sort of a relic for a lost cause, but that's only from my viewpoint. You might say God hated the Gears, or loved them, and that the fate of each was either just or regrettable, right or wrong, just or not, justice served or justice tainted. Yet, in due time, my reader, due time.**

"Hey, move!" Quint yelled between gasps, running further. The white coat barely leaning outside of the door turned into a full body, the small lining of green private coat greeting him with a questioning face at the voice. He was standing lackadaisically in the doorway, holding his sword propped to allow light to reflect in, the voice stabbing him from his day dreaming to a reality. His face went from curiosity and confusion to utter bewilderment, seeing Quint, then the enemy behind, who still was a mystery to the eyes of Darton. Running closer and closer, stamping his boot into the carcasses of man and Gear, he ran forward, trying to keep his balance right, not to trip, don't do anything stupid, keep running.

Darton grabbed the inner edge of the door, whipping himself around with his left hand, and grabbing the handle of the door with his right, snapping it shut as he thrust himself inside, breathing hard. The shocked soldier was thrown to the ground by the force Quint hit him with, as well as his stuttering delusion at the few seconds that just passed. As soon as Quint shut the door, his hands fumbled with one of the locks, the grunts of Gears coming closer and closer, perpendicular by a familiar voice.

"Private, where is the light?" the modern Atlas echoed.

"Gears, get yer ass movin'!" Darton screamed, securing the small circular lock with his hands, twisting it clockwise until it clicked shut. Then, pounding on the door, the crying and shrieking, talking and waiting, like an anxious child before Christmas, the Gears started to bash the door. Small imprints of hands on the inside of the door shown through, deafening _clanks_ from each successive hits. "We don't got long!" Quint said, picking up the private in the dark, his adrenaline pumping to where light wasn't an issue, he could see well enough. He rushed through the door to the warehouse, instinct guiding him, hitting Kiske right in the chest, as his vision failed him for what he thought he knew.

"Darton!" Ky questioned, confused.

"We got Gears, let's go!" he said, trying to rush by, but Kiske grabbing him by the shoulder before he could bolt.

"You led them here! You're trying to kill us!" Ky said in desperation in the darkness, the sudden re-entry of Darton and Gears scaring him a little from a rather peaceful evening of searching a warehouse.

"If I were leading them here, they would have killed me! Now run!" Darton said vituperatively, nearly spitting the words at Ky, trying to wrestle free of the child's grip to get a running start. Then, the grip left, and Darton was ill prepared for the ensuing loss of leverage and balance. He crashed into a small crate inside of the door to the warehouse, the wood snapping underneath him, and the light pad-pad-pad of Seikishidan boots running by as he collected himself. _All of them heard my little fiasco, they're running too, and I bet Ky is, if I could see. Damn kid.._ He stood up, hearing the bangs increase in intensity and in number on the door, knowing it wouldn't hold for long. He reached for the Gear sword he acquired earlier, jumping out of the destroyed crate, to find its trusty place was currently missing. Reaching down in the darkness, he found the hilt of a sword, sheathed it in the adjustable belt loop that only accommodated a hilt, the blade resting without cover on his hip, and sprinted in whatever direction he thought was straight. _I'm gonna need one of those…_

"Follow the flairs!" he heard a voice echoes to him, how far ahead, unknown, who unknown, but the flare's location, soon to be known. With a few more steps, a small speck of light shot out at Darton, quickly becoming a small circle to a lively display of color and luminance, a small rod-like flare with a burning effigy on the top, leading the way. _Warehouse, probably picked up those supplies, just keep running, Darton! Don't stop, don't ever look back, don't do something stupid, don't do something dumb enough to regret, if you even live to regret._

**_-X- Author's Notes –X-_**  
- Zeronova's Notes:  
- Well, by the time you read this, I will still be on my two-week vacation in Alabama, with the Samuraiter to thank for making sure DG:DE didn't fall without a Monday update. Next Monday I will have returned. Progressing nicely, and a little bit of a better way to introduce Quint's buddy, which plays a bigger part this time around, considering how very different the situation upon his getting it is this time. But, we have the warehouse sprint and battle first, so don't jump the gun. Can't have DG without bloody battles, even in a remake.  
**_-X- End Author's Notes –X-_**


	8. Arc 1: Darkness shant be your ally

**_-X- Introduction -X-_**_  
- Desolate Gail__ Redux_  
_ - Started on: 5-17-2004 / Posted on: 7-5-2004 / Checked on: 3-11-2005  
- By: Zeronova  
- Chapter 8: Darkness shant be your ally_

_- _Text: Third person, Narration  
- _Text_: First person, Thoughts  
- **Text**: Interjection, the Narrator****

**_X- End Introduction -X-_**

No preparation, no deliberation, it was all off the fringe. Even if they had weeks and months of planning, down to this exact moment, it all wouldn't have mattered. The human intellect, human's inventions, strengths, all of them wouldn't have helped in a feral, simple fight for life in running from a predator. Running from death, running from those who will kill you, but you can fight. You can turn and face death, gritting your teeth, showing him you have a pair of balls, and if he wants your life, he'll have to go through Hell first. Most of what happened with the Seikishidan and Gears was like that, since the actual battle itself was reduced from military and strategy to pure fighting. The essentials. Hand to hand, blade to blade. No explosions, no fancy things that could kill hundreds in seconds, no guns, it was all somehow…simpler.

**In a time of harnessing more amazing power sources, more amazing inventions, more amazing times, it all reduced. People lived in fear of death the next day, day to day thinking, and sometimes being correct, that it could be their last, and then having to have one man, leading others, go fight for their freedom, security, and lives in the simplest way, dating back to Neanderthals and even animals themselves. So, simply, are humans animals? Do we, as a race, classify as animals? Gears are humans, sometimes, animals, infused with other DNA, from countless other organisms, fused all with magic, turning them into genetic amalgamations and discombobulations, brains turning subservient to the one Alpha Gear, a mix of technology and Gear, yet still human as well. **

**The Alpha Gear was the first. No other sort of Gear to serve, given that sentience. Except, with Justice, there were rumors that he wasn't the first. The original Gear project's contributors mysteriously disappeared, their research destroyed, records destroyed, and floated back to the background of politics and news, finding new uses and amazing new things to do with magic, Gears not being of any importance; the magic-infused bio-organism project was shoved to the side for other technologies. Those accidents, those few that may have possibly lived from that initial project, if at all, would have been the original Gears. Many people sometimes debate if any did survive, and if they are all sentient, they should still exist. Aging, decay, all of it destroyed by the Gear process, as well as them being extremely strong. So, would Justice be subservient to any if they still existed? Technically, yes. So, they can't exist, right? Well, rumors say it is possible, in the dark alleys of the human homesteads left, lurking and living amongst us, there is, and they just try and live a normal life. **

**Personally, I believe the story, and you'll know why later, but I have a reason. Knowing that there is something to believe besides Justice, maybe able to stop Justice, it gives some faith, considering I have none for God. Would God forsake my faith in his enemy? Are Gears even God's enemies? The Seikishidan says so, but is it? I'm not one to say, and I don't make the rules, I only translate them. The old saying goes "Hey, I just work here", and indeed, I do. I work at this, I write what I think, my literary beliefs and tones subjugated in writing and my own thoughts. I do hope my personal ramblings and insight do not bother you, dear reader, as I write for you in some weird query that you do not know anything of the Crusades, do not know Ky Kiske, maybe you don't know my world, maybe you're from another. Far future where the past is gone under ice and decay, removed, or from the past before events, or maybe you're just like me, searching for reality in something that you cannot quite grasp, but know existed, and know happened. Which is why I write, reader of future, reader of past, reader of now, reader of far away, reader of close, reader of myself. I have personal reasons as well to which I attribute this diatribe, but that's losing focus as the pages whip past my pen…**

_Run, run, run. Don't stop, don't look, find the next flare, run till you see it, run straight don't curve, no! There! See it! Go for it! Don't stop, you goddamn pussy! _Darton pushed harder with each step, hurting more than the last, and each step moving forward again. His legs wanted to stop, feeling like dead weights, harder to lift and push forward each time, but doing it nonetheless. He wanted to sit down, rest, take a breather, but that meant death. Maybe that was it; maybe he was ready for death, since he was so tired. No, don't give death your soul because you're tired, keep pushing until he has to wrench it away from your very last finger clutching it in. That was how Quint felt, each leg pounding further, harder, more and more ground flying underneath his boots, each step methodically jiggling his sword on his hip, back and forth. Flare after flare passed under his feet, like beacons of hope, small-lighted dots of security that seemed to give him hope there was more to go for.

He could hear the Gears behind him, rushing in, the door broken, overtaking the doorway, pieces of cement crumbling underneath the surge prying the doorway open, smelling the scent of humans, following orders descended down to them by Justice. Their footsteps cracked the cement like they were running through sand behind him, the cracks racing along with the Gears and fleeing Seikishidan soldiers. The small cracks, reaching out with every footstep of every gear, joining, cracking more in front, running like veins to the heart, trying to grasp Ky Kiske, the centrality of the Seikishidan, mission objective. With every sep, Quint felt the cracks catching up, his feet losing perfect grounding, his boot finding small imperfections in the ground as they raced up to him, and then beyond him in the small silhouetted spitting light. _They're close, behind me!_

Small dots of red light pierced the darkness, asides from the flares. The glowing inhuman eyes of the Gears shone dull in the darkness, the magical properties outwardly reflecting in their retinas, the DNA somehow gleaming the indifference, like a poignant reminder that it is different, yet somehow trying to act cool, like it's not a big thing. Darton saw red dots, sometimes one, sometimes three, two side by side, two mixed on a silhouetted body that had been contorted racing along the walls and boxes of the warehouse around him, closing in. They were racing past him on both sides, clawing into the walls, the ceiling littered with red dots of the crawling Gears. There were some behind him, he knew, the less animalistic ones. He wasn't their priority anyway, but they'd kill him. Leave the heavy infantry and humanesque units to run, the animal ones who could traverse more…unique obstacles went ahead and did so to reach Kiske, lost in the darkness ahead. The grunts from the hulking Gears behind, clanging of their feet on the ground and swords dangling along were a lullaby to Darton throbbing heart inside, his breathing muting everything else in the huge gasps.

Then, he heard a cry, a squelched, liquidy gasp; a human cry. Darton kept running, then saw a small frame of a Gear, standing over a body of a Seikishidan, a flare up ahead revealing in an orange light the impaled man with the killer Gear hovering above, confirming the kill, sending the information to Justice, thinking, receiving, and finally deciding, crying out in a Gear's dual voice, a scream of delight and torture at the same time, like a ghastly vignette. It had both of its hands impaled in the body, then brought them out slowly, likcing at the blood, analyzing, thinking, before ripping into the body again to verify its death and taking delight in its dissection of its enemy. Quint ran harder, legs pumping, his hand reaching for the sword sheathed at his hip, binging it into his right hand. _This feel weird, it isn't the Gear sword…Shit!_ Quint has no time to think, a Gear on the ceiling, racing along with each step, every small claw digging into the cement with a bit of dust being swept in the running barrage, leapt off of the ceiling, turning in mid air, and landing completely level. Obviously, it had feline DNA in it, the slit like eyes and balance, as well as elongated claws and fangs, dripping with excitement and expectation, bits of fur and skin meshing in small fragments, skin ripped, exposing muscle and organ, bones sticking out, an overall disgusting creature, though designed perfectly for the job of genocide.

A small layer of dust exploded upward when it landed, the warehouse floor traversed by the few soldiers ahead of Quint, but still mostly untread in years. It growled slowly, then pounced at Quint in the bleak darkness. The adrenaline gave Quint a fighting chance, and the orange glow of the next flare above gave him an edge, if it would be considered that. Quint, not wanting to stop his run, swung his sword futilely in the air at the airborne Gear. He closed his eyes as he did, knowing he could keep running, but knowing also he was dead. Even if he hit this Gear, it would smash into him, then the Gears behind would kill him. _Swizoosh!_ He kept running, feet plodding one after another, no Gear impaling him, no Gear blood splattering on him, no blade cutting into flesh and bone. A small wind rushed past him and he felt his clothes and hair be tugged towards it, Gear no where to be found, dust settling in the distance, the faint orange glow tingeing it like the embers of a fire on the horizon. _The hell...? Keep running!_

Faster every step, every step harder, every leap forward on his feet feeling like his last, to be defied a second later by the opposite leg jumping up in front. He pumped his arms as hard as he could, gaining more speed, but even his arms started to feel like weights, his legs not wanting to move faster, pain building, the burning sensation gone, replaced with a numb pain that hurt more and more, yet lost feeling more and more, like a backward masochism. Gears around him caught up, gave him a glance, the slow glowing crimson of their eyes piercing the darkness, abbreviated with a slight orange tinge from another flare up ahead that soon passed under their feet, then raced forward more. Justice didn't care for Quint, just a grunt, already tired, and would be picked off by routine battle operations of the grunts behind. The faster, more animalistic units needn't worry about some private, go for Kiske, leader of humanity, mission objective. He pushed harder, trying to keep up to the fleeting trails of the quadruped Gears, who bounded off into the darkness, beyond the orange silhouettes the next flare ahead and the one passing granted.

The human like ones behind him were catching. They were slower than their more animalistic brothers, but what they lacked in speed, they made up for in strength. He could hear their grunts with every step, cement cracking under their mutated and swollen feet, their hoarse breaths thick with moisture creeping on the back of his neck, and he ran harder. But, that moisture only caught up, taunting him to look behind, but he dared not. _I can hear them, every breath, every grunt, every disgusting plod forward, they're behind me, they're catching me, run harder, run faster, run!_

Through the running campaign, feet and distances became null, darkness being their only gauge, and even that was somewhat misleading. How far they ran into the warehouse, if it was even the right direction, who knew, but they ran. Past crates and wires, up a small stair set that was two or three high, then down a small ramp, around a supporting beam, and kept running. They had to keep going, for fear of death, fear of having to turn and kill more, and of fear itself. Quint couldn't see any soldiers ahead, the count down to him, Ky, Jaygus, and six other Seikishidan, since one private was just killed. _Don't turn, don't turn…run!_ Quint found it harder every step to not turn, to run forward, and he could now feel the steps of the Gears behind him reverberating in the ground, shaking up his own heels. _Don't turn, don't turn…_ Running harder, his legs now hardly moving to his command, each step becoming more faint than the last. _Don't…TURN!_

Quint took one more step forward, his right foot lodging itself, toes first, into the cement for grounding, then his left jumping forward past it, turning so his body would rotate, and landed with both feet shoulder width apart, facing the Gear army covered in the veil of darkness. _The hell are you doing…gonna die, then do it bravely, eh? Start swinging, never stop until they remove your arms and pin you down, remove all blood from your body, and pluck your soul from the hands of God himself!_ Quint wrung the grip on his new sword tightly, then brought it across his chest in a horizontal slash, his right hand leading the blade to slice the midnight surrounding him. No flesh, no bone, nothing touched his blade, and all fell silent suddenly, save echoes of Gears ahead of him. Though, in front of him now, he heard none of the Gears from the previous pursuit, he heard none of the husky growls and disgusting plods, it was silent. Then, _splat-tap-pat-pop­_…a low growl, a few red eyes opening, silhouettes of bodies standing, slowly walking forward, an orange tinge outlining the grotesqueries of their faces, the juts of bone and flesh, shading other recessed parts.

They seemed to be filling in a gap left, slowly walking inward around Quint, their sprint forward stopped. A few red eyes rolled in their skulls, blinked unendingly, processing data and receiving it to Justice. The previous sounds he heard now found images, as a few Gear bodies fell limply to the ground in the distance, like being dropped from a cliff, or thrown, the orange light from a flare in Quint's wake giving them renewed life to the eyes of the living.

"Aaaaaah!" Quint screamed, bringing both of his hands to rest on the grip of the sword, then brought it above his head, and slashed vertically forward at the nearest Gear, the blade tip finding itself a home in the cement at the end of the slash. What followed was a clamminess, the air seeming to grow cold and dense, humid and dry at the same time, the Gear was untouched by the attack and stepped forward to impale Quint, then a small sound, a _swizoosh_, like a rustling wind, and the Gear he swung at, suddenly screamed in agony, flying backward, the Gears behind it being bowled down. _What the hell is with this sword!_ Quint was consistently scared and amused at this new toy he found, every slash he made a like reaction happening, and neither understanding nor coping with exactly what he found. He brought his sword up again, attacking another, running head forth into the slew of human Gears, number unknown in the darkness, only the orange silhouette of a flare about fifteen yards behind his back, lighting those in his immediate sight barely.

His slashes were more lazy, like he was flailing, his body ripe with exhaustion, sweat dripping off of his face, wetting his dried bangs, the neck of his uniform becoming moist with perspiration. Every slash was accompanied with a yell, his flailing hands leading his wavering sword, and Gears being slain down, one after another. How, he knew not, and neither did the Gears, but he did. And, the humanesque Gears continued to try and kill him, to no avail. They neither passed him up and kept running, since obviously, Justice's danger rating had jumped severely. In due time, the program would say, this human must be killed before the remaining will, and the hunters ahead will have taken care of that job, as well as these current slave bipedal Gears would be needed to kill this human.

A Gear came in from Quint's left with a vertical slash, which Quint blocked with a lazy sword, being thrown down to the ground on impact, his body tired, but he pulled his sword back up to block another volley from the same Gear who took another step forward, Quint taking one back, blocking again, and his sword almost lost from his grip once again. On the third step, it brought the blade above its head with one hand, then forcefully down, of which Quint sidestepped (which was more of a falling to his left, in his exhausted state), then stabbed forward, the awkward tip of the blade finding dull flesh. The Gear cried out in pain suddenly, then was pushed off the end of the blade and back ferociously, as if yanked, screaming echoing back in the emptiness, and blood trailing and spraying everywhere in a slight gust, a bit splashing onto Darton's uniform and two drops landing on his face.

Darton fell to the ground on one knee, propped up by his sword which found a crack in the ground to be a crux for him. He could hear a small sneer, an undeniable joy in the Gears silently and blindly moving in on him, around him. He breathed hard, sweat dripping off of his face like dew in the morning of fresh grass, his eyes scanning the orange glow, seeing figures jump this way, that way, duck under for another to replace it, and slowly surround him. He could see that dull red glow in their eyes as it turned in their heads, processing, relaying, querying orders and actions, programs executed, programs denied, all of it functioning to serve a Gear's reality. _This is how it ends? Dying trailing behind, because I'm tired. No, you won't die like that. You won't, now get up, move, move damnit!_

Quint slowly moved his kneeling leg up to a foot base, then lifted his upper torso slowly, his back cracking and his muscles agonizingly burning through him. Pain was no longer an issue, the point past pain had been reached, where pain was a metaphor for some feeling that meant nothing while fighting, only to distract you. He was far and beyond, his body ached like it had never ached, he was tired like he never was before, and he was still going. The large gash in his arm was bleeding new blood now, feeling the trickling down his arm and over his uniform, but he wasn't conscious of it, it was as gone as the pain. The Gears continued to slowly pace around his back, forming a circle. They grunted and growled, small twinges of delight pacing through their howls. A kill was imminent, blood to be splattered, and they wanted it more than any other desire had ever been bestowed upon a creature previously, than the three goddesses and the golden apple to the fairest, more than Abraham wanted to find one non-sinner in Sodom and Gomorrah, and more than humanity wanted Gears dead.

They formed their circle, each around him. He swiveled his head slowly, seeing dull outlines and shaded forms, a few Gears in direct line of sight of the flare ahead, blocking the orange that pervaded around their heads and under their legs, silhouetting the grotesque bodies in a colored vision around, leaving the center epitome of their being and body black and vacuous. He could see the figures of more humanoid Gears running by with husky growls while the few that surrounded him had him as priority, closing him off.

"Come on, you bastards..." Quint spat out, his torso leaning over his legs slightly, his body jumping with more adrenaline, a straight shot of what he had left. He brought the sword to his knee level, blade back behind him, both hands on the hilt, letting it push up against both of his calves as he stood, breathing over himself in his hunched position, head a little low, scanning them all with hawk eyes through his matted brown hair.

A slight curl in the voice of one Gear, like a scowl, and it jumped out to Quint's right, one hand forward, and the other back, poising to strike. It was a humanesque form one, as all of them were, the speedier ones already ahead. He was burly, big, stood on two legs, and mildly slow in terms of running speed, but quick in movement of arms and reflexes, despite a general stupidity. It aimed to simply grab and crush Quint, no blade, no razored bone or nail, just simple bashing, as Justice would indeed like to see such a thing of a human. The Gear didn't accomplish the task handed down by Justice though, receiving Darton's sword in the middle of its right clavicle, down to the end of the sternum. It cried in pain of the vertical slash that tore through its chest, blade lodged through it entirely, then Quint realized what the sword exactly did.

Another growl of the Gear, like it was cursing him, then the air became stale, like it was dead. A small swoosh of air pushed Quint back a foot, his hair jumping like children scared, then resuming their place on his forehead like children returning to parents. The Gear lodged on the sword was smashed into the ground, a gust of wind blowing from the sharpened side of the blade, as if it sucked life itself from the air to amplify it in a vortex to where the blade was slashed. The wound gushed open at the ripping torrent, Gear being pushed down into the ground, shins snapping in bone and sinew, the entire body crumpling with blood being the only clue left to the murder on the blade, which was mostly cleaned and splattered on Gears and Quint alike by the gale.

All of the Gears stopped moving, their hunched, haggard breathing, modular movements that are as natural as breathing, processing, re-evaluating.

"Well, looky here..." Quint smirked. "I found something you guys don't like..." He said with a renewed strength, puling his body up to a full stand, hands regripping the hilt, tightening, a new burst of energy and optimism in Quint. _You got this thing, now use it, kill them all, and live. Come on, Darton, you didn't survive Berlin, De La Morte, and Tripoli to die in some warehouse in some shitty Seikishidan op. You'll live, and you'll kill more of these sons of bitches, now let's wipe these out here and now._

Quint took the first step in engaging the Gears, who were starting to show signs of life again, new orders processed and being executed. He ran forward into the small circle, the circle being about twenty-five Gears in total, the heads and bodies of other Gears rushing by the small enclosed perimeter to catch up. They isolated Quint, and the dozens of others ran by, stamping by on the ground, husky voices permeating the air, while those enclosing Quint had their orders for him. **They couldn't deny the orders, they couldn't not accept them, it was why they existed, to carry out orders perfectly, death being the only thing to stop them. Conscious wiped clean from them, reality and thought vanquished, they were expendable items, objects, and entirely useful for that.**

Quint flailed his weapon, not caring whether it met flesh or not, now realizing that what he picked up earlier was more than a mere sword, and he knew, to an extent, what it could do. Slash after slash, he kept flailing it, form and style to his fighting gone, and just simply throwing his arms every way, sword gripped tight. Blasts of wind and gusts jumped from the blade, smashing into jumping Gears in front of him and to the sides, catching them in the draft of the billow, and tossing them like rag dolls into the darkness behind, crashing with unanimous and dull, squishy thuds. Darton swung it left, right, turned around in a circle, the odd sword pitching typhoons at whim. So long as he didn't use the blunt or flat side, he was fine. He had to cut the air for it to work, as he found out by trial and error in his flailing. He closed his eyes, screaming with each swing as it hurt his muscles and body more, a few tears of anger finding way from his eyes as he continued to slash every which way.

A Gear rushed in, and he swung at it, the flat side of the sword flung at it, bluntly slapping the Gear in the chest. It stepped back in anticipation from a gust, none coming, as well as being sliced, of which it was just forcefully hit, leaving no broken bones, bruises were negligible, but the sword not responding. It then jumped forward again, one hand back, holding a crude knife of sorts, a rusted tin contraption, sharpened on one side by stone. Its hand outstretched first acted as a battering ram, squarely knocking Darton on his back, the second hand following down onto the Seikishidan knight. As soon as Quint's back felt the concrete rush to meet him, he immediately raised the new sword up, angled correctly, the Gear coming down on top of him experiencing slight weightlessness as its forward force was stalled, then reversed, being thrown straight into the air, to come down next to Quint three seconds later with a sickening splat, bones splintering in a piercing crack from its fall from twenty or thirty feet up.

He slowly stood up, looking around him, eight, nine, ten Gear bodies concealed in darkness, the circle now having slight holes and gaps where the dead should have been, the surviving enclosing on him slowly.

"How many more of you bastards do I need to kill?" Quint asked mockingly. Sweat poured off of his bangs, beaded on his chin and dropped over the dead carcasses, his collar, yellow-brown with dirt and exhaustion, seemed to hide his face as he bent his knees to attack again. His Seikishidan outfit was lined in small brown dots of dried blood, new red splotches adding to the roster like medals of honor and proud relics of war, the pure white hardly pure anymore on the Godly uniform. Quint raised the sword again, and jumped forward attacking, a shrill cry of anguish, anger, pain, exhaustion, and above all, the reason Justice couldn't kill humanity in this war, hope.

**_-X- Author's Notes –X-_**  
- Zeronova's Notes:  
- Well, sorry that the past two chapters got speedily uploaded two days ago. I thought I had sent Samuraiter the e-mail with my login and password, but it appears Yahoo didn't want to send it. My sent folder said I sent it, but his inbox said I didn't, so whatever. I had a great time in Alabama, made great friends, and had a blast. If anyone from Alabama is even reading this, VF-103 Jolly Rogers Thunder Flight and Short Bus forever!  
**_-X- End Author's Notes –X-_**


	9. Arc 1: The elevator

**_-X- Introduction -X-_**_  
- Desolate Gail__ Redux_  
_ - Started on: 5-17-2004 / Posted on: 7-12-2004 / Checked on: 3-11-2005  
- By: Zeronova  
- Chapter 9: The elevator_

_- _Text: Third person, Narration  
- _Text_: First person, Thoughts  
- **Text**: Interjection, the Narrator****

**_X- End Introduction -X-_**

Darkness was the horizon, darkness was the man running next to you, darkness was what you breathed in haggard gasps of pain and exhaustion, and darkness was what kept you moving, pushing further and further. All of these things helped, fueled the fire, pushed them harder. They ran faster, slashing wildly to each side as they ran, slicing through Gear flesh with limp blades, expending all energy on the next stamp of their boot into the unforgiving cement, ready to fall and die, yet stepping again, dying again, and another, and another, never stopping.

_Drop it!_ Ky threw off the small duffel bag he had over his shoulder, his hand searching inside, coming out with three cylindrical flares, then dropped the cloth bag in the darkness, hearing one Gear cry out as it got tangled up in it and fell also, trampled under the razor claws of the surging ones behind him. Smashing the small aluminum head of the flare onto his leg as he kept running, the top broke through the chemical seal, magnesium and phosphates mixing, burning through each other and the flare, an eerie orange glow emitting, as well as a dark smoke, which was impervious to the darkness already surrounding them.

Monsters of the darkness seemed to shirk away, jagged edges jumping through the illumination to be forced back again, denied access, and speared with the sword of a dull orange luminescence. The flare was swallowed by the surge of Gears, pieces of it being destroyed as it was cut into smaller and smaller pieces by the spikes protruding from nails, ankles, shins, everywhere on these special breed Gears. **They had extra bone growth, from every point possible. Lucky for Gears, they had no thought, no feeling, or else it would be rather impossible to successfully walk without pain that was excruciating. But, the growth of these special breeds of animalistic Gears were designed to have abnormal bone growth, and once it began, they were sharpened, bone turned to flint-like tools of death. Spikes from knees, spikes from shoulders, out of the side of one wrist, it was all abnormal, yet expected. Somewhat of a Darwinian conundrum, since they did help the Gears survive more, but if they were allowed to know and feel it, it would be an instant threat to their survival because of the inability to move. Yet, with the control of their feelings, they would move like it was not a problem, compensate for a limp in the left leg, more power in the right, and it was solved.**

Kiske slowly let the all of the other soldier pass him, with reasonable speed. Those who were tired and falling back on their own accord, he couldn't help, but those still pushing, still trying, he could. Slowly, he lessened his pace, igniting another flare, and tossing it in front of him twenty feet, looking over his shoulder to see the silhouetted figures of death surging like a wave forward more and more. _Be a leader, save your soldiers. _Kiske took the Fuuraiken, switched his grip on it from him holding the grip with the blade going upward, in the direction of pinkie to index, to the opposite way, blade to the ground, index to pinkie, in that line of direction. Seeing the coat tails of the running Seikishidan ahead, running over and past the flare he threw, he gave himself silent confirmation.

A quick, jerked slash behind him left a small lightning trail, whispering in blue innocence, since it was commanded by the magical technology, one Gear falling dead from it. Ky continued to run, throwing his sword around behind him, without looking, but seeing the gravel in front of him turn blue in a pale light, his own foot steps and body making small slits of darkness, invading into the ally, light. Light soon faded, a cry of a Gear, then a squishy sound of trampling, and he'd throw his arm behind him again, keeping a firm grip, but making sure that the sword had a swing to it, the electricity brimming off. He killed maybe one per swing, not very significant in the long run, but it helped. Morale boosting, knowing they're being killed slowly.

The last flair in Ky's left hand, right hand holding the Fuuraiken, he smashed the aluminum head on his knee, throwing it in front of him, a high arc and a fading trail of orange and smoke in its wake, like a beacon that the flair was here, right here, come and look before it fades! _Clunk._ Ky, in the middle of a swing, suddenly stopped, his view over his shoulder swinging forward to see what made that noise. The flair stopped in mid-air, twisting, then started to fall. As it did, the orange luminescence gave birth to the silent darkness that housed salvation. The steel frame bars, four in a square formation all stretching vertically, with horizontal bars for stabilization every three meters, and in between every square two more rods, shaping an X, boxed in, every three meters, another. In the center of this were a bundle of metal wires, cobwebs dangling from them, slightly rusted. Pieces were revealed, lower and lower, as the light fell, then, it was revealed. The wires led to a small rectangle on the back of a large piece of metal. The box was a motor, the large piece of metal, and the floor of the cargo elevator. Sixteen feet across, twenty feet wide, fitting just inside the metal vertical frame. _The elevator! We're here!_

The flair found itself a new owner, as another Seikishidan soldier picked it up merely moments after it hit the ground, scanning the elevator, Kiske twenty feet back, the surge of Gears inches behind him, close enough to feel their heart beats and breaths, but inches out of the reach of death. The five there, two privates, two lieutenants, one captain (Jaygus), all seemed to be confused as what to do, finding a block in their path to run. Like animals caged and cornered, they're scared, afraid, do not know what to do, but like a cornered animal, they fight fiercely. Kiske ran forward harder now, a slight limp in his left leg developing, from cramps, exhaustion, maybe a twist or dehydration, who knew, but it hurt, yet he pushed harder.

"Fight!" he screamed, diving forward in-between two of the soldiers in front of him, the five standing slashing at the wall of Gears behind Ky. He came within inches of smashing into the wall from his dive, but it gave him a brief second to get off his feet, yet standing up and turning to fight was instinct, no pain in it inherently. The pain was there, but he didn't feel it, it was what he needed to do. The point of "ouch" pain was gone; now the pain was more of staleness in where it should hurt, numbness with a sharp stinging. Not so much hurt pain, but it just didn't work, the affected area was somehow less useful, and that was the real pain, that it didn't work as it should. Fatigue, exhaustion, tears, pulls, sprains, breaks, stabs, cuts, infections, none of that mattered now. It would catch up, but in the moment, they were nothing more than tallies of things that were annoying, to get done what they needed. Pain was put on hold.

Getting up from his dive, Kiske made sure to smash the small lever with the elevator movement to the "Up" position, the old rod, with a small red ball on the end, hooked to a few wires and electronics, the slow buzz of life and activity surging through the wires, becoming taut and revived. Shirking cobwebs, loose hanging wires standing at attention by the call of Ky Kiske, and a small _clink-clank _of parts moving, jostling, from the decades long rest, dust jumping off like a dog being pushed off of a bed, of which it thought it owned, by the master of the pet.

Kiske brushed one soldier to the side, finding his place in the now six-man line defense, the surges of Gears pressing on them, each slowly backing up against the progressing wall. They had lost two soldiers earlier, two privates, one of them impaled by a flying Gear, the other fell behind and was taken out, making six of them, seven if Darton was included. The flair was behind them, showing few of the oncoming Gears, their own bodies blocking the light, death coming from all sides and places. **At a point like this, light isn't imperative. Sight, hearing, all of the senses aren't effectual. At this state of exhaustion and utter concentration, men can feel what is happening, they can feel their enemy, their movements, they can feel the steel in their sword more so than swinging it, but every impact, every slash, every contact with flesh. A sixth sense of war, perhaps. Old war stories tell of it, how amazing things were done by men who were in the moment, who in any other circumstance would have died. One of the books I kept with me from my tour de force in Italy was a story about wars fought before the Gears, before the Seikishidan, back when there were countries (is that the right word?). Of one of these stories, a man was shot eight times, yet didn't die. He kept fighting, kept shooting back, and won the fight. He went back home three days later, back to his base, and had a glass of water, then bled to death. They say he was so dehydrated when he was fighting, his blood wasn't liquidly enough to seep out of the bullet holes, and clogged them up, basically. When he drank the water, it was essentially pouring water into a holed bag, and he died. He fought, and he kept going, regardless or not of his injuries, he didn't even know he had them, and that is war, what it can do to men. While war is also a terrible thing, it is also a glorious one. I want you, the reader, to question this, to wonder, is war bad, or is war good, by the end of my story. I want you to view war with respect, of what it deserves.**

**War isn't just men dying for a cause, fighting for whatever is put into their heads, it is humanity. Humans always have to fight. Money, land, love, all of it, the curse of actually being smart enough, smarter than beasts, to have these qualities, also leads back to being an animal for these things. Though, some of the best parts of being human come out when you are least human. How human you are isn't being a Samaritan, saying hello to people on the streets, it's how you are when the pressure is on, you're going to die, and you decide what to do, despite you could die. When you put death as the goal for any decision, which can come in matters of seconds, people are their most human. War brings this out more than any other thing that I have ever seen; yet with war, that humanity is also begot by one person having to die, and that death by another person. The actual killing of another person is a human trait we are sad of, yet in this current war, against the inhuman, we still kill each other. While metaphorically, it is also literal. And, Justice knows this too. But, as I have said, Justice knew as well. And, that humanity, life or death, is why he couldn't win, why Justice can't put out the flame of humanity, because humans are human, more than beast, and always will be. Humans fought to be the top of the food chain, the top of everything, and nothing is going to relinquish them from that, our greed is insatiable, and nothing but the best will do, we will win, we will not take second on the pecking order on this planet, humanity's plant, on Earth, on anywhere. No Gear, no beast, no anything, will ever topple humanity, because we have exactly that, humanity.**

Kiske took a brisk slash at a Gear to his left, his sword meeting with the sharpened jutting bone on its right leg it threw forward to try and pierce him, the Fuuraiken cutting through the sinew and flesh, yet the Gear showing no emotion, as it brought its leg back, and struck again with another limb. Side stepping the other stab from its left knee cap, Kiske sharply stabbed through its belly, sword angled upward, exiting through its clammy, soft left shoulder blade, the rotten bone curling around the blade, the flesh slowly cracking and sizzling black from the current running through it. A gurgle choked itself from the Gear, and then it fell limp on the sword. Shrugging it off, Ky brought himself up to find another Gear, an abundance around him.

The seven, including Ky, had their backs inches from the wall, the animalistic prototype Gears surrounding them. The previously mentioned loss of reality, fighting for life itself, kicked in. Somehow ephemeral, like a ballet, they blocked, swung, side stepped, ducked, dodged, taking small cuts or none at all, and continued to kill, effectively, efficiently.

"Argh! Get offa me, bitch! You want some of this!" a lieutenant screamed, an elongated finger piercing his chest. It was on his right side, so cardiac arrest wasn't immediately in his voyeur of death, cutting the arm of the Gear off, then removing the object from his chest, blood dribbling down his uniform, but him impervious to the wound, striking down the Gear that had dared to kill him, then reaching out to attack another, not caring about pain or death, just fighting. _Don't lose your focus, keep fighting._

"Move, damnit!" another voice echoed from another soldier. Kiske threw a poor swing of his sword forward, the bolts of electricity jumping off and spearing three Gears in front of him, slowly illuminated in dull blue, all of their grotesque features given radiance before they fell down dead. He took a second to look from where the voice came from...in front of him. All he could see were the hordes of Gears, so where did the voice come from? Then, he knew instantly. Quint Darton. Then, another piece to the constantly growing problematic puzzle, the elevator that Kiske turned on started to move. The small platform, which was vertically lifted by means of the central cable attached to the small motor, started moving upward, dust billowing upward from the ground that it sat over for decades.

_Thud._ A dull squish and splatter of blood surprised Kiske for the third time in less than five seconds as a Gear body fell to the ground besides him, a long upward cut across its chest, exposing rotting organs, and three severed ribs. _Where did that come from...?_ Looking up again, Kiske saw. Back, behind the flood of Gears, he saw a few every second scream as they were lifted up, thrown out of the way, like children by the bigger kids on the playground. Landing among the other Gears, killing them, rolling through, flying through the air to smash into the wall behind Kiske and into the vertical rails that held the elevator, cracking bones and falling down to the unforgiving Earth which God created, killing the un-Godly creation by the other Godly creation, gravity.

"Move out, get on, soldiers!" Ky screamed, fending off the front row of Gears encircling them with a wide horizontal slash, sending an arced wave of electricity into them, paralyzing, burning, killing. The other soldiers fell behind Kiske, running to the elevator, inching upward, stomping their feet on the metal pad slowly moving upward. "Darton, hurry up!" Ky yelled, before following suit and jumping onto the elevator pad, which moved about an inch a second. It was a freight elevator, very slow, but could lift heavy cargo up. The Gears seemed to move as one, surging upon the rectangular framed elevator shaft, climbing up the support poles, jumping through to fall on the elevator pad in front and beside the Seikishidan.

A Gear leapt forward, past the crowd swarming and encircling the slow elevator platform. Smashing through one of the supporting girders, it landed in front of Ky, the snapped girder landing side by side to the Gear, who stood up slowly, popping a dislocated shoulder back in as it grunted in delight of the imminent kill, feeling no pain, only popping the shoulder for the efficiency to kill would be higher, had it been out. One quick jab from Ky's left hand knocked the Gear off of its feet and backward, which it then toppled off of the elevator, about 18 inches down, not too much, but was then pierced through by the foot of another Gear, veering to get into the elevator to kill a human, as per the programming Justice relayed to it.

All of them killed off the animalistic Gears who unremittingly attacked the slow elevator, which seemed to only move slowly for the satisfaction of watching the conflict. The Gears poured through the super structure of the X-ing support beams, jumping through to try and have a stab at the humans. The previously stabbed Seikishidan lieutenant was standing next to Ky, fending off his own foes. One was in front of him, a second working its way up the wall and through one of the spaces in the elevator valences. One quick slash to the one in front of him, through its chest, and he stabbed the one that was trying to climb through. It gurgled blood from its mouth at the sudden stab, then grabbed the blade lodged in its ribcage, pulling the soldier with it as it fell backward. Reluctant to let go of his sword, he was thrown against the meshing of the side of the elevator, struggling and grunting against the dead weight of the Gear, growling as it tugged harder.

Out of the side of Kiske's eye, he saw it unfold. A quick blow to the lower leg of a Gear climbing up, then kicking the rest of the body so it toppled off, he made quick work of the oncoming Gear, then turned to the lieutenant. He reached out to Ky with one hand, the other scraping against the meshing of the side of the elevator, slowly sliding downward. Kiske jumped at him, switching the Fuuraiken to his left hand, grasping with his right. His hand came so close to clenching his, but he was gone. He toppled out of the side of the elevator, behind dragged down through one of the holes in the X-ing that gave the elevator structural stability. Continuing with his jump to the soldier, he fell forward to the side of the elevator, catching himself on one of the rails, then looked down to see the soldier fall into a mass of Gears. He tried to get up, but was stabbed by one Gear, then another, and he tried harder, then he could no longer be seen, darkness covering him, his screams the only trace he ever existed.

Then, another Gear found its way onto the structure, climbing up to try and get in to kill the Seikishidan. Wait, no, it thudded against the rails, then fell down, a splash of blood startling Kiske._ Darton!_ About fifteen feet from the base of the elevator, Ky could see Gear after Gear being attacked from behind, thrown forward, to the side, like being picked up by the darkness and moved, the hand of God playing the pawns in chess. _The hell...they're being tossed? Like marionettes, tossed..._

One quick jerk forward with the Fuuraiken sent a crescent of lightning hurtling forward, reaching out to the steel girders, and seeming to change trajectory from the Gear it was aimed at, smashing into the girders with fading blissfulness, the blue light like an angel, then leaving, like these few soldiers aren't holy enough to be sanctified. A few of the Gears climbing up the side suddenly screamed in terror, and fell off, burnt flesh of where they were grabbing onto the rails invading the senses of the few humans.

"Sir, the electricity!" Jaygus yelled, a brief smile on his face, gleaming with sweat in the pale blue light wafting off of Kiske's sword, the heat of the battle and fervor of its user giving it a blasphemous consistency, to glow and create something God hadn't intended to kill. Another few Gears were thrown to the sides and smashed down, Kiske feeling a slight gust. Turning his view, he could now see Darton from his elevated position about five or six feet off of the ground.

"Come on! Jump on!" Kiske yelled, slashing a Gear in mid-air, who was jumping up to the elevator, was killed mid flight, and smashed loudly against the rails, but it was dead before it even touched, then falling down to the ground, on top of two other Gears.

Darton ran forward, slashing to his left, no Gear being touched by his sword, and a second later, another step forward, and it seemed to be tethered to a string, and pulled on hard, flying outward from where the swing was. Kiske watched in disbelief as this phenomenon graced his eyes. _What kind of blasphemy does God show me now...?_

**I feel like I'm not writing this as I should. How I am narrating it, doesn't feel right. I want to say it just right, convey how these few soldiers kept over a hundred Gears at bay, while riding up a severely slow elevator, to have one more come in late, the last horse in the cavalry. I want it to be epic, I want to scream some sort of cinematic appropriateness for the situation, yet I have written it five different ways, this one being the best I could muster. I don't want this to influence you, my reader, to think of this as an unimportant struggle, as everyone of them is life and death in war. So, I'll switch narrative from Ky's point of view to Quint's now.**

_Come on, Darton. You can do this, you're still living after that group you killed earlier, so just get on the goddamn elevator._ One foot in front of the other, slashing his sword one side to the other, plowing through stale air as the life was sucked out of it to each slash he made, small vortexes flinging Gears off of their feet with each swipe of the sword.

"Sir, the electricity!" Darton heard Jaygus say above, obviously to Kiske. _Shit, electricity? You better not do it, you better not before I am on!_

"Don't do it, Kiske!" Darton growled out, above the whines and growls of the Gears around, climbing up the walls, jumping to the slow elevator, trying to complete the mission objective, kill Ky Kiske. His words fell upon deaf ears, as he saw Kiske, stepping forward to the bars, about eight feet off of the ground, seeing the top half of Ky at the angle. He brought his sword up slowly, getting ready to touch it to the interlaced poles, which would conduct the electricity to anything touching it and the ground. And, if the electric charge were great enough, it would even jump from the poles to anything near that was a conductor. And, the Fuuraiken probably was powerful enough. "Don't do it!" Darton screamed again, yet he saw the tip come closer and closer, bits of electricity jumping off in anticipation. Time seemed to slow to Quint; every second like death was going to kill him, that every step would be his last. Gears right now didn't bother him, it was another human that might be his death, ironically. Not today. A quick slash upward, and a _swizoosh_ of wind. Kiske's sword flew back, as well as his body from the gust of wind, knocking over Jaygus as he fell.

_Good, bought time. Now, use it!_ Throwing his sword in-between his belt and his uniform, sheath useless to the awkward shaped sword, he jumped into the air, hands grabbing for parts of the guiding steel beams. He felt that his body slightly tckled a Gear out of the way behind, but his hand still grabbed a rung on the open elevator shaft. The four beams were at the corners of the flat elevator floor panel, leading upward, guiding straight, an upward ascension. Extra beams were in place to make sure they stayed exactly where they were, and linked it all together, beams making X shapes, interlocking and weaving, X on top of X of beams. And, they were perfect for climbing. Looking up while climbing higher, trying to catch up to the slowly rising elevator, Darton found a foothold at the bottom of one X, reaching upward for another.

A dirty blonde head popped out above of him, Kiske looking down, a scowl of pure envy and anger, knowing that somehow, Darton stopped him from killing Gears, which would have inadvertently, included him. Though, the deaths of Gears weren't far off. A low growl and a humid mist grew up on the side of Darton's neck, a Gear climbing next to him, one arm on the rails, one in the wall, climbing up. It raised one of its sharpened hands, bone protruding with bits of blood and sinew trickling off. Darton took advantage of the moment while it had its hand up, and quickly jabbed it in the face, removing his fist to see a changed expression, of anger he saw previously on a human. **While Justice could control Gears, they still had primal urges, anger being one that could be semi-controlled.** It took a stab with its claws, missing Quint, who jumped to the side, foot losing hold on the rail, but quickly finding a new one. Then, he kicked the Gear, who quivered, then again, and again, until the leg he was kicking gave out. It broke sickeningly, bone piercing the rotten skin, and the Gear incapable of holding its weight, falling down into the darkness.

Darton climbed higher, foot into the hold of an X, hand in the center of it, and the other on the side, wrenching himself up. The elevator crept up, but he caught up to it, pulling himself up each piece of the criss-crossing steel X's. Reaching for the bottom of the elevator, his fingers graced it, with an outstretched arm, then slipped off as it jerked upward. He jumped up another X, hearing a Gear clank onto the steel under him, then reached again. He closed his eyes, hoping to grab it, hoping his fingers grabbed onto the elevator and he could pull himself inside, sit down, rest, take a break, just not die. He felt his hand grab something, though it was not steal. Looking up, he saw the friendly eyes of Jaygus, his hand grabbing Quint's, and jerking him upward, helping him into the elevator, passing through one of the holes in an X, barely missing being chopped by the top of one as the elevator ascended. Darton dropped into the elevator, breathing hard, the sword clanking on the ground, the rest of the soldiers all stabbing off Gears who tried to enter as they gained more and more height. Kiske gave him one look of instant malice, then took the Fuuraiken, and poised it against on of the four guiding vertical rails. A slight buzz was heard, the electricity surging, and then the slam of a few Gear bodies on the ground below.

The higher they got, the less Gears could keep up, and if they touched the rails while they touched anything else, they were given a few hundred volts. The Gears were basically contained, as they rose higher and higher into the darkness on the old elevator.

"Darton! You almost cost us all our lives! How _dare_ you!" Kiske jumped from the poised position of where he left the Fuuraiken, tracing the rail as it consistently went up, like a crutch that slid among a smooth side, constantly providing the charge, and giving a dull blue glow on them all.

"Wouldn't you be" a cough interrupting his statement, the dehydration and exhaustion catching up "dead without my little attack from behind?"

"Of course not, we are the Seikishidan, God gives us the power to persist!"

"Sure, sure, just lemme rest." Darton said sarcastically, wiping his face with the sleeve of his uniform. Kiske brimmed with anger, opened his mouth to argue, then shut it suddenly. He looked around, the other soldiers slowly sliding down onto the floor of the elevator, hard breathing, the death catching up to them, sniveling, and fighting to keep awake. Then Kiske himself felt the fatigue, whelming from his legs, up to his chest, looming there and sweeping through his body like a virus. A sullen nod from Jaygus gave Ky the last piece he needed, then he sat down, and found himself as tired as the rest.

"I'll finish this...with you..." Kiske grumbled between lazy lips.

"Yeah, I got some poignant words for you too, boy..."

**_-X- Author's Notes –X-_**  
- Zeronova's Notes:  
- Eh, I don't think this chapter got quite the treatment I wanted it to get. I wrote it at 3 in the morning, so deal with me, please. Next Monday, next update.  
**_-X- End Author's Notes –X-_**


	10. Arc 1: An angel and a devil over

**_-X- Introduction -X-_**_  
- Desolate Gail__ Redux_  
_ - Started on: 5-17-2004 / Posted on: 7-19-2004 / Checked on: 3-11-2005  
- By: Zeronova  
- Chapter 10: An angel and a devil over one shoulder_

_- _Text: Third person, Narration  
- _Text_: First person, Thoughts  
- **Text**: Interjection, the Narrator****

**_X- End Introduction -X-_**

Two soft hums lulled them in and out of the weave of Babylonian dreams, one from the Fuuraiken's consistent electric charge, and the other of the small motor constantly pulling the elevator platform up. They were all part of the electric circuit, so it didn't affect them, though any Gear who touched the poles and the ground, or a wall, or anything else, was instantly killed. Few jumped straight onto the bars, bypassing the whole dying part, simple laws of electricity being transmitted into their memory by Justice's programming, but where then killed by another part of the Fuurenken construction, its primary function, killing Gears. While it was electricity and followed the properties of all normal electricity, it was also made and conducted by magic, so Gears, in their magical being, were killed by the charge. All in all, Kiske had found a nice little trap for them to sit tight in until they reached the top. A few Gears crawled up the walls slowly, looking at the humans inside, sneering, growling, just slowly tracing the elevator, waiting until they got off.

"Makes it hard to sleep with one of them over your shoulder…" Quint mused slurredly, his words seeping out of his mouth like molasses. Quint had his back up against one of the four vertical poles, which slid underneath his back every second, but was smooth enough so he never got snagged on it or anything. Darton took a look over his shoulder, seeing the Gear climb slowly, one paw in front of the other, its talons digging through the cement like putty, its head cranked to keep a perfect look on Darton, relaying the information to Justice. "Yeah, I see you. And tell your leader guy that he can blow me." Darton said, spitting off of the elevator, hitting the Gear who didn't even seem to know or realize.

"Mr. Darton, what is it you are trying to accomplish?" Jaygus asked slowly, cranking his neck side-to-side, shaking off weariness. All of the soldiers were trying to sleep, but could not, for the things that had happened, remembering them, or just knowing that the Gears were there, the oncoming stop of the elevator was a deadline for them to have to get off, leave mother's womb and go fighting again. They needed sleep, they needed rest, but they could not.

"Dunno, I just hate Gears. Hate the goddamn pieces of shit, and I want Justice to know it, I want him to see me and know I said it to him. He cost me, all of us, the world so much...and I'll make him pay." There was an underlying hatred, a deeper sentiment, and a step lower into the deep end into Darton's words, which carried insurmountable weight that Jaygus felt undignified to find ones to keep up to par with them. An awkward silence fell upon both of them, none of the other soldiers finding words to keep up, or just too tired to try and talk, to take every second of rest like a God given gift.

"For all the hatred of Gears, why do you find yourself somehow distant from the rest of humanity, when you share a goal with us?" a different voice asked. Darton looked up, scanning the soldiers around him, to find two azure eyes burning through his own through a maze of blonde hair.

"Because as much as I hate Gears, I hate Seikishidan more." Darton quipped back.

"Why." Kiske shot back at him, not so much a question as an interrogation.

"...I don't need to tell you why, boy." Darton hesitated, turning his stare from Kiske back to the Gear. Kiske held back his rising anger, as usual with Darton, trying to keep a level face and demeanor, especially his voice.

"I am your commanding officer, and I am asking you why you hate _my_ Seikishidan, the Holy Order, the army for humanity and God..."

"Kiske, you want to know why I don't like the Seikishidan? Why I can't stand you and this bunch of 'soldiers for God'? Fine, I'll tell you why..." Darton paused, taking a deep breath, organizing his thoughts. Jaygus, Kiske, and all of the other soldiers, while in and out of a slumber, were all listening with at least half an ear as best they could. Most of all, Kiske, but he tried not to care as much as the other soldiers, but they all could sense each other were listening, wanting to hear why. War stories always are good anyway; keep up the morale, talking to people. Keep some humanity in a war with none.

"I was in _De La Morte_, I was in _Reintroduction_, I was in _Operation Hayday,_ I have been with the Seikishidan for more years than I want to remember. I have fought for humanity, killed Gears in the name of Kliff Undersn and Ky Kiske, and never once, have I fought for God. I've not gotten a rank promotion, after even surviving all of that, I've never found any thing besides a bed and a clean uniform in the mornings to the Seikishidan. This...this entire foundation, the army, the 'protection of humanity' is bullshit, when people like me are those who are the defenders of it, yet as more of me, there is no humanity to defend. And you, Ky Kiske, you seem to think there is." Darton's voice cracked a little in his small speech, emotion pouring from his generally sarcastic and stale demeanor, his words echoing through the darkness, the Gears near them now nothing but mere echoes of memory. They were all silent for a while, Darton's own personal conflicts catching up to him, trying to recompose himself, as the burden of those words bore down upon the rest.

"I...protect and fight for humanity, and I do so for God. And not entirely for God either, but for myself. For the children I see in the streets whenever I visit Paris, for the men and women who live in fear in the world of Gears, for those who are uncertain that life may deal them an unfair hand, and decide to kill them early. I fight to help them, to change the future for them, to kill Justice, serve justice to the thing that calls itself Justice. _That_ is why." Ky said, his voice starting low, each word adding onto the decibels of the past, to his final words which echoed like profound words of a prophet.

Of both of the amazing speeches bestowed in the past minutes, no one else had any words to convey feelings, to say what they needed to, wanted to, or even thought might help the situation. Those previous weighted words crushed the others trying to veer up and stand amongst them, but were shoved down under the tide of the previous ones, sitting atop a perch of words with meaning, true and undeniable meaning, which was few and far in these times.

They all sat silent, listening to the hum of the motor, the hum of the Fuuraiken, lying on the ground, blade rubbing against the vertical beam, hilt grabbed by Ky as always, protective of it. The slow and methodical step of the few surrounding Gears, watching their prey move, but them unable to get near, to even do anything, just watch, yet they heard too. All of the conversations, screams, laughs, everything, was also relayed back to Justice.

* * *

_Humans...so very interesting. I do enjoy seeing them quiver, seeing them at their absolute worst, it gives a surreal view, the reality of what they are, and to me, it only proves why I must further kill them. Pity, really, for once I dominate this Earth, there will be no more interesting things and events, no battles to dictate, no wars to fight, just my unadulterated rule over all. The simplicity of ruling, total and undeniable. I'll archive humanity in my memory, commit it to a small fragment, a disk, of which I shall never again use or see, but I must have it, I must be in possession of the last relic of humanity before I destroy it, and what better than to make it myself? Record humanity, from inception to destruction, because even as my enemy, and a foul, disgusting enemy, they are worthy of remembrance for their achievements, like me._

"Current Gear protocol, battalion 527C, at position at Lyon, France, coordinates: latitude, 45 degrees, 46 feet north, longitude 4 degrees, 50 feet east. Awaiting programming..." a female computer voice echoed, each syllable and word programmed by some ancient human long ago, echoed to whatever words typed, she'd say. Justice had affectionately named the voice Siren, both for its beautiful qualities, and for the more intrinsic value, that the voice told him everything so sweetly, that usually led to the deaths of more men, like a siren of lore, which would also be committed to a human anthology, once the war was complete. A slight twinge in Justice's mind, and the program controlling them was done. Search, seize, control, perimeter defense, subsidiary 36H, program code 9K. Simple, and they'd all do their routines, Siren calling out the orders to each and everyone individually from the master program, given by Justice. While Justice controlled which programs to execute, Siren made them go and work to the Gears, the Alpha Gear using a machine to get work done, ironically. New programs, tweaks to old ones, new battle tactics, changes in fighting styles for the Gears and Gear types, new ones were edited, created, and old ones removed everyday by Justice. It wasn't like there was anything else besides the war to attract his attention.

**I write this section, and following ones on Justice all from hearsay. I never saw Justice, knew how he thought, knew what he did with all of the things he did, how he did it, though I do know the original plans and how they were made and laid out, so from there I conclude this literary attempt to show Justice for more than a villain of dastardly proportions. And, from infamous words known child to adult in the current times, we surmise Justice's own ideas, and thoughts. Though, finding out the person of Justice would be considered blasphemous, evil, and a vain attempt, being a Frederickist, they'd say. Although, I am an author, so that gives me temporary immunity. Do not be swayed by my writing though, Justice is a vile abomination, an evil one that plagued humanity for a hundred long years, killing billions of men, women, and children, all in pursuit of the genocide of humanity. But, such a thing could not be without thought and conscious, right? That's arguable, and that is what I wish to show by these monologues.**

A small film of dust was lifted into the air, the gray pieces of history removing themselves from their holding place, removed and jostled, losing their place in where they belong, like Justice's goal of humanity's history. Shaking the history from itself, three small locks started to move. Twisting counter clockwise, they completed a full circle, then slowly split apart in halves, unlocking both of the sides of the cylindrical tube. Both sides shirked with a renewed vigor, years of sitting still and being dormant, slowly sliding down into the ground, revealing a cylindrical tube, nothing to be seen inside because of the dark, circulating fluid. Small tubes attached to the top, translucent and dust covered with years of sitting still, stirred to life, liquids flowing through the top, slowly emptying out of the dark tube, a noise other than the ticks of computers.

No light showed the inside of the tube, except for the slim glow off of the computers cascading a ghastly illumination on the instruments of death in the room, which were quite what one wouldn't think that instruments of death would be. The tubes snapped off of the top of the tube, which was a metal cap, as opposed to the stale fogginess of the cylinder. They each snapped off when most of the liquid was gone in the tube, in a clockwise manner, air whistling out of the pressurized chords as they fell limp from hanging in an arced fashion. Connected to instruments on the ceiling, with all sorts, they hung in darkness around each other, like watchers of a phenomenon, a faceless crowd. The tube slowly moved downward into the ground, a figure now visible, suspended like a puppet from more wires, extending from the metallic smaller cylinder affixed to the ceiling.

A low hum emitted as the tube found its haven in the ground, the small motor moving it slowly downward, the inch and a half of liquid left in the tube spilling out and over, the liquid a mixture of an oxygenated nitrogenous sap, that kept the host inside alive and fit, as well as keeping the biomechanical suit it used constantly in peak condition. As soon as it splashed out on the ground, it started to evaporate into the air, the liquid only sustainable in an airless environment with only itself. The suspended figure in the center seemed to steam himself, the residual liquid left in-between his joints and dripped off evaporating with the gaseous oxygen and nitrogen hitting it, instantly changing it into gas as well. Another low hum exited the top of the tube, which still held tubes attached to the suspended figure, the tubes that were attached to the top now hanging limply around. They each started to pop off with a pressurized _shh_. Tubes splashing off of the back of its neck, several on its back, a few down each arm, a few down each leg, regulating body fluids, heat, mechanical fluids, all of it to make sure that the inhabitant was in peak condition.

"Self-sustained life support now active." Siren said coolly. The figure was being suspended by one last tube, connected to the back of its neck, the body limp and hanging over itself, like meat on a hook. A slow tinge of the fingers, working its way up the arm, through the body, activity and life springing forth from the ominous thing, and then, the last tube popped off with great force, spraying the fluids all over like a jet, the pressure build up and weight too great for the hose. It slowly came to a stop, the computers monitoring the activity of it, and the figure fell to the ground, echoing a large _bang_ on the steel floor as it hit. The body convulsed slightly, a bit of tranquil excitement behind each movement, popping joints into place, standing erect and stretching slowly, towering in the room.

**There are quite a few interesting things about Justice that even I have no validity to back up. He was huge, towering, massive. Eight, maybe nine feet, it isn't known, but he was a giant among men, not only his height to be afraid of. While Justice was a Gear, he was special. Very special. They say Justice wasn't like the grunt Gears that fought on the battlefields everyday, because those were animals infused with human genes, or humans infused with excessive animal genes, magic the special variable to mix and contort them. Through restriction enzymes and DNA plasmids, magic completely avoided that and inserted these new DNA strands where they belonged, to take effect, not like plasmids being inserted anywhere to add to the junk DNA. It sorted, it mended, it was the thing that held DNA where it should be as it were, magic was everywhere and everything, and with that special infusion of more with the DNA, it did its own trick like any other controlled substance. Oil keeps friction down, but it can be set on fire. Water cools, water boils, water freezes. Magic does things too, and can be harnessed, though not as easy as making a fire like a boy scout. **

**Back to Justice's mystery though. Justice was said to be a special concoction, no one knows the original form, animal or human, but the infusion of a separate entity of genes, a completely different set, neither animal nor human, created Justice. A sentient, super powerful Gear. Like most Gears, he was strong, fast, and deadly, yet he could think, analyze, and above all, lead. Which goes back to the Frederick myth, that when he disappeared, he didn't die, but was one of the very first Gears ever. People say Frederick died, people say he still hides out, others say he is still in the world, trying to live a normal life like everyone else, but the rumor is that they used some of Frederick's genes to create a secondary sentient Gear, because then Frederick would be the only sentient, being the first, and Justice a slave, so they needed a way for Justice to be sentient. Or, maybe Justice was the first, and Frederick is dead. A lot of rumors and theories float about, but a lot of it is lost because of a war that has raged for a hundred years, no one cares anymore, they just want it over. And the final rumor I'll tell you now that Justice may not even be a male, but to me, I think he is. People say maybe he isn't, because a leader and a creator of all other Gears to lead and destroy is a motherly thing, I like to think that no sentient female could do the genocide that Justice has, but either way, Justice is an enemy, plain and simple.**

The figure stood tall in the room, his head almost skidding the roof, but built specifically so he would not. Small rotational control stabilizer jets, lining his arms, legs, torso, all of it, controlled his movement of pitch, roll, and yaw. They by no means allowed him to fly, but to move around without touching the ground, a hover and a system function to reserve internal energy to the user. By using the intake valves on his shoulders, he could suck in air like a jet engine, then use it for the RCS jets, or for other, more fun things.

**Justice was created as a Gear, but to make it the ultimate Gear in the race to Gear armies before the war, they wanted to make Justice special and unique, to stand up against hundreds of Gears on the battlefield for the country he served. So, they made the sentient Gear, above average to all other Gears, and then they fitted on a biomechanical suit to it, linking it to organs, tissues, a new skin for Justice. It was like giving a serial killer a machine gun and thirty blind folded people.**

The suit was a type of plastic alloy, mixed with titanium and plastic, bendable yet unshatterable, could withstand a bullet, and yet could be molded. The mixture of the types of substances was, surprise, an offshoot of magical experimentation. The armor covered every major spot; ankle to shins, a knee cap, all around the femur, the waist, the torso, arms, elbows, head. There were a few unprotected spots, which were the joints. The ankle, back of the knee, upper leg joint, armpit, inside of the elbow, the neck, and others. A rubbery endoskin filled in the holes, like putty in the cracks. It breathed and moved, letting in oxygen, sweating out what Justice did, and provided more protection, though it definitely was a weak spot on the body, which is why between the layers was a metal mesh, microscopically connected, so nothing could get through except small molecules. It wasn't as strong or reliable as the primary white armor, but it gave protection for the weak spots. On top of each shoulder were two huge blue blocks, fitted in through the back, up and around the top of the shoulder, his head fitting between both of the structures. They opened up to suck in air, or expel it if the temperature exceeded operational bounds.

The two digital eyes that fit inside of the armored head each had digital infrared and thermal imaging, as well as 100x zoom. They gave a crystalline picture digitally to Justice, whose eyes were not even functional. The entire suit was built in and through Justice. When he thought about moving his arm, his arm moved. What the suit saw, he saw. He didn't have to see through some lenses or into a viewer, what those two camera eyes saw, was what his brain interpreted. Small sensors all over the body gave him radio frequency adaptation, temperature, humidity, and every other relevant, and some irrelevant measurements, to make sure that Justice was the ultimate in all of the fighting weapons for the countries who wanted one.

_Open the door._ Justice floated a few inches off of the ground, slowly approaching the door, covered in dust and years of stale silence. The receptors recognized the thought, sent a signal out of the receptors, and the door opened, dust settling off of it, falling to the ground like an awakened beast, falling back to sleep at the comfort of the ground. As the small jets on the legs of Justice passed over it, exiting, the dust was awakened fully into its monstrous roar, circulating around the room in a giant swirl, a typhoon of dust and soot. The small hallways were entirely made of steel, mathematically perfect, no life, no humanity in its architecture, just simplistic corridors, right angles, square halls. Justice, ironically, preferred something different, something with more life. While trying to destroy humanity, he was a connoisseur of more exotic things. **Which is what you'll soon see.**

Opening another door by the thought of it, he climbed out into the weathered steps of the ancient edifice. Sensors told him the air pressure was just short of 13 PSI, 79-percent nitrogen, 20-percent oxygen, 1-percent other hundreds of chemicals, with a humidity of 76-percent and a wind of 6 knots east. _What measurements mean nothing to me, yet I cannot feel them. A price to pay for being a God. You can rule all, yet not indulge in your own creations, because you must see to them._ The rocky hillside, littered with boulders and jagged stones, had been razed on one side, made way for a crude stairway, that had been cut with bad mason saws, and wasn't an architectural feat, yet served its purpose, and was also a structure to be seen and gasped upon, to what it symbolized and showed, especially with what it led too. A crimson carpet was centered on the stair set, holes in parts of it, fringed on the edges, burned in places, yet was complete from top to bottom in being a carpet, though a ragged, weather torn, aged one. Justice effortlessly floated up the steps, his subroutines taking him to his destination, which he had already set with his thoughts, and let his mind wander.

_The Paris Headquarters...it seems Kiske is still alive, and heading up an elevator. This Gear following alongside, continue running routine 78Y, but give me video feed. Hmm, following. There's...seven of them. One, there in the green, the long brown hair in the front, he seems to be somehow different. He doesn't have the attire or delegation to God like the others do, nor the wholehearted conviction in Kiske. Interesting. There are few who are still sensible in your old ranks, Kliff. I wonder how your protégé handles though. He is thus far alive, good for sport, though I tire of this, and hope he would die. Kliff, you did not. You persisted on the battlefield, every time we fought, every time the cries of Gear and man alike, and yet, you persisted. Does your follower come up to snuff? I would assume so thus far, yet I aim to kill him, Kliff. Is he really your next of kin, so to speak, since I know what happened to your real next of kin? Ah, here we are._

The jets all over his body changed their upward aim, spewing out the vacuumed air they sucked in on the front, changing direction velocity, turning him about face, and lowering his torso and raising his legs, sitting slowly into the stone chair. A small _clank_ echoed as he sat, the dark night, cloudy and ominous, not showing the full picture of where he sat. A small twinge of lightning in the distance lit it up briefly, the faces and bodies of the guardian Gears around him shone for a brief second. They were armored, muscled and agile Gears, outfitted with a large sword, and had a special DNA code, which Justice himself made in a period of boredom. They were his guards, if ever he needed them, they were the cream of the crop. They stood like statues, tip of the sword in the ground, both hands resting on the grip, looking forward, square ahead. They had stood like that for going on five years now, the replacement cycle of them six years. At five and a half years, he put in new production for that style of Gear, got a new platoon of them, the others dying off at their terminal life cycle, and replacing them.

**All Gears have a life cycle. They do not eat, they do not sleep. Their magical creation uses magic itself to sustain their life, no sustenance needed, though it does wear off, the biological components of the body eventually breaking down from the malicious variable, and the Gears die, they can no longer function. Every model of Gear, every different type, has a life span, some different than others. Magic acts like a volatile drug to the human body, it kills after a long-term use, but works in the beginning. New Gears are produced from the dead, like zombies as I stated before in one of these introspects, but Justice uses many different types of animals, humans, and even has, by rumor I hear, DNA types where he creates the Gears, uses different types of insemination, test-tube creation, some without mothers, using an insect like breeding pool, and spawns Gears, all depending on the difference of the DNA used in each. More on that later.**

Another lightning strike lit up the small building, columns letting in the invading light, the broken stones of thousands of years ago, the floor tread by millions of people, the hills used for life of many different races and creeds, animals and humans. The top of the facility was destroyed in the wars, before Justice claimed it his home, and the columns around the super-structure broken and shattered, all of different heights and magnitudes. It was somehow artistic, the difference in reality between each, all magnificently symbolic and artistic to Justice, who indulged in it, as much as he did the war, even though he still had to execute his plan, running on a hundred years old, to eliminate humanity. The Parthenon stood alone among the ranks of dead, accenting the night sky, standing home to Justice, ironic to the God whom it was supposed to represent.

* * *

"Sir, I can't sleep either," a lieutenant said. There was now only seven of the soldiers, as opposed to the total nine before the warehouse run, but God selected two to be removed from their group, if even God has a say in the ordeal. Kiske looked over at the soldier, who had one knee up, the other leg flat, his arm resting on his leg, and his head resting on his arm. 

"We all need rest, as soon as the elevator gets to the top..." Ky said, trailing off, because they all knew what happened at the top, and they didn't want it to come. They feared the top, they'd have to get off, fight more, run more, leave and go out into the world from the safety of the elevator, and none of them wanted to move, wanted to fight, wanted to run anymore. They wanted it over. For that feeling of wanting it over, Kiske knew that he must end the war, for times like this.

"Sir, I can't...it's just...this war, I can't take it," the lieutenant said, voice trying to hide its deeper meaning. _Well, here you go, Mr. Kiske. Your "proving your worth to your soldiers" clause you're always screwing with in your head. What are you going to do? What can you say? Kliff would know, why can't I decide? Better say something, Kiske. Be a leader, say something they'd look up to, or be truthful, try and console him, but show that you are a kid, are a normal person, and lose the leadership? Decisions...decisions..._

"Soldier...as part of the Seikishidan...a warrior for God, we cannot..." Ky gulped, trying to find the right words. "We cannot show fear, disposition, or...weakness in the face of such adversaries. Where would David be if he had in front of the Goliath, where would Jesus be if he showed fear to his persecutors, where would humanity be if it cowered and showed weakness? Nowhere. God is behind us, He will give us power to continue on." Kiske said, his decision falling upon trying to say something that Kliff would be proud of, a real leaderesque line.

_Eeeyrrrungh._ The elevator slid to a stop at the top, the edges clanking along the rusted frame, and heavily thumping to a stop, the darkness of the Floor E greeting them in the equally secret warehouse.

"Here we go, soldiers. We've lived to fight more, and here we are for it. God protects those who fight for him, seize that opportunity, let's move!" Ky said in a slow, low voice rising to a patriotic scream, rousing the soldiers to awake and alertedness. _Here we go again._

**_-X- Author's Notes –X-_**  
- Zeronova's Notes:  
- Here we are at the end of another chapter. And, at the 50k word marker. How it has come and gone, and I am impressed that I have kept my word on the Monday updates, and continue on DG. I hope you all too continue forward, because I will finish DG. This was more of a dramatic chapter, and personally, while harder to write, I like it more so than probably any other chapter thus far. Next Monday, next chapter.  
**_-X- End Author's Notes –X-_**


	11. Arc 1: Top o' the warehouse to you, mate

**_-X- Introduction -X-_**_  
- Desolate Gail__ Redux_  
_ - Started on: 5-17-2004 / Posted on: 7-19-2004 / Checked on: 3-11-2005  
- By: Zeronova  
- Chapter 11: Top o' the warehouse to you, mate_

_- _Text: Third person, Narration  
- _Text_: First person, Thoughts  
- **Text**: Interjection, the Narrator****

**_X- End Introduction -X-_**

They each stood up haphazardly, looking one another, trying to read their emotions on the situation to justify or vanquish their own feelings, based on the other's. They were safe as long as they didn't step off of the elevator, it was their haven, a motherly embrace, Adam stepping from Eden, and they didn't want to. The Gears slowly climbed off of the edge of the walls where they trailed, over the small iron guardrail that separated the plunge into the darkness. The direction they entered the elevator was now their backs, them now facing what was a wall, the elevator shaft being on the farthest side of the Seikishidan possible. Ahead of them was the darkness unknown and untread in years.

The Gears moved rhythmically, their bodies moving around to stand in front of the open elevator, yet not touching it, knowing what happened then as long as the Fuuraiken was touching the steel of the elevator. There had to be a door like the one on Floor C at the far end of this secondary warehouse to get in and out, they wouldn't make one entrance two floors down that was just one small doorway, there had to be more, had to be bigger ones on different levels, and if there wasn't, how could they fit in the crates and boxes they had up here? Of course there was, there had to be. Those were the unspoken sentiments and hopes of the soldiers, Kiske's Biblical rousing doing next to nothing for the better half of them.

The monstrosities moved awkwardly, circling around the elevator best they could, transfixing their gaze onto the humans, picking targets, marking for death. Ky stepped forward, his toes touching the edge of the elevator before it turned to walkway, cement, and the ground of Floor E. He looked over his shoulder at the six behind him, smiling a little. They were walking into death itself, in front of them and surrounding them. There had to be about fifteen to twenty Gears, the ones that survived the onslaught on Floor C, weren't crisped by the electric charge on the elevator, and what was left were these predatorial hunters. The slow, more human Gears couldn't traverse vertically, so probably were ordered to find another way around.

"Hey Darton..." Ky said slowly, a follow-up sentence on his lips.

"Yes?" he replied, standing up, stretching out, his back emitting a low crack as his bones relieved pressure and popped back into place from the awkward sitting position previously.

"That sword..." Ky said, motioning to the one hanging at Darton's side lullingly. "You got it down on Floor C, right?" Ky could take all day talking, as long as he kept the tip of the Fuuraiken on the elevator, keeping the current running through. Quint nodded slightly, wanting to see where Kiske's interrogation was going. He hadn't sensed any hatred or anger yet in his words, they were a bit amicable, actually. "That belongs to the Seikishidan and is unfit in your hands." There was the demeaning Quint hadn't sensed, Murphy's Law kicking in.

"That's nice, and?" Darton sarcastically replied.

"You may not take it, it is property of the Seikishidan." Ky growled, a certain other robbery of a Seikishidan artifact springing to mind by another less than friendly former soldier.

"Listen Kiske, just shut the hell up. Either I use it or we die, it sure as hell saved my ass when you left me to die." The words carried a heavy weight, considering that Ky hadn't been brought to reality on his previous decision to leave Quint had only come back to bite him in the ass, proverbially speaking. Ky opened his mouth to retort, but quickly shut it, not knowing the right words to say. _Yes, I left you to die, yes, I stand by my decision, and yes, you coming back did end up helping me. But, you are not dignified to have that sword, nor did your use of it against me turn out to be a good decision, on your part._

"I am a leader, and I decided what was best for my troops. Waiting for you jeopardized our safety, being in the open and not moving to our priority objective of escaping. Waiting for you would have killed us."

"Two of your men died down there on Floor C, what do you mean that it would have jeopardized you? They're dead, Ky, can you understand that?" Darton retorted. Kiske tried not to think about something like that until he needed to, the death would only stop him from surviving, and if he let down his guard for even a moment, that would be the end of Atlas, savior of mankind. Ky breathed in slowly, then turned entirely about face, his back to the Gears surrounding the exit of the elevator. He took a step forward, closer to Quint, the other five soldiers just standing and watching, still resting while the two quarreled.

"Yes, they died in the service of God. They died an honorable death, worthy of remembrance, fighting in this war for humanity."

"And all of the others that have died too? Over all of the years and all of the battles, were they worthy of remembrance? How many soldiers' names do you know? What were their names?"

"...They are and will be remembered when this war is over. How can you defy me and argue a point you are devoted against, resigning from the Seikishidan?" Ky countered Darton quite aptly, his silence proving that.

"...I am against the Seikishidan, but not humanity. I hate Gears, but I hate the Seikishidan, but I do not hate humanity."

"And the whole vessel of destroying Gears you resign from? You're a hypocrite."

"And you're to talk, spouting God, yet you kill so much."

"I kill those who oppose God in the name of God. My service is the same as Michael's, abiding the word of Him."

"Sure, keep saying that. Back to what you want, because I'm getting tired of bullshitting with you, and I don't like being on this elevator."

"...Fine. Listen clearly, Darton, that sword...it has a history, maybe you'll get to know it some other time, but it was in here for a reason. One of those classified things that grunts like you are not privileged to know." He instantly regretted saying those words, as the other soldiers around him shifted their position, their emotions being conveyed as easily as reading it. Ky shifted his eyes around him, then continued. "Basically, it's a wind sword, as my sword is lightning, and the former Fuurenken was fire. Cut the air right, and it shoots the air forward, like waves in a pool. You drag a stick through a pond, and it displaces the water, then the water rushes to catch up."

"Yeah, I figured that out." Quint said, remembering the puppetry he enacted on the Gears in that way previously.

"I need you to clear our way in front of us for a second, so we can get off of the elevator without getting massacred."

"You need me to do it? And you tried to leave me for dead?"

"Just shut up and do it, unless you want to die too." Darton shrugged his shoulders, then walked ahead of Quint, brushing his shoulders against Kiske's, knocking him off balance a little, like a symbol of anger and hatred, their eyes locking as they both walked by, mirroring each other's dislike for one another. Quint stepped to the edge of the elevator, both feet touching the metal, the Gears in front of him in a semi circle, the darkness slightly choking them, but their vision tuned in to it, their red eyes weaving in and out of the slight blue glow offered by Kiske's sword. Small bits of light filtered in above them, the forty foot ceiling above them cracked from not being serviced in decades, the hillside's roots and shrubbery working its way onto the inside of the cement, cracking bits of it. Small slats of light rained down onto the warehouse, silhouetting crates and boxes, and a clear pathway straight from the elevator into the darkness, like a road to salvation. Quint slowly looked back to Ky, a smirk on his face.

"As I walk through the valley of the shadow of Death..." he said with a chuckle, a few of the soldiers choking out a stifled laugh as well, then returning to their sober demeanor at the icy glare of Ky. Quint slid one of his feet out of the elevator, the Gears jumping to life, programming realizing that the enemy stepped off of the elevator, prepare to attack. He brought his entire body down, his knees at about 45 degree angles, lowering his head to be level with his shoulders, looking out below his brow, his bangs covering over his vision, how he liked it. The front of the blade he pointed at the enemy, holding it with both hands at his kneecaps, running from one to the other, slightly hunched over his own legs.

_Here goes nothing..._ Quint stepped forward with his left leg, crossing his right, then bringing his right back out in front of him, a crossed walk. The Gear semi-circle seemed to move out a little, the back ends closing in slightly, to circle Quint, the back few on a slanted view, because of the Seikishidan still in the elevator. Then, a grunt above the low ones, more pronounced, and heard. Quint looked over his shoulder, seeing a Gear emerge from the circle, taking lead, the first to seize the opportunity to fight. It wasn't part of the programming, which only dictated tactics and what to do, the actual fighting was another program, yet the Gears had some level of choice on what to do, and taking initiative was a built in thing for the program to let a Gear do if it such desired to do so.

It took one pervasive step forward, testing to see if it was allowed, then broke into a full sprint, the jagged sharpened bones jutting from the dead skin, hanging in long strips, flapping disgustingly along the rest of the body as the wind pushed it back. It brought its right arm up in full stride, fingers lengthening out as it did, to stab through Quint. It kept running, and ran right past Quint, who rolled to the side, sword extended, slashing through the side of its gut. As he rolled, he brought his sword horizontally with him, slicing through the meaty area between the ribs and hips. The blade cut through effortlessly, and the Gear kept running, Darton on the side that wasn't poised for attack. The wind burst followed the sword's attack direction, knocking two Gears that were behind the one rushing one, by each side before it broke the circle, who were flung into the darkness. The Gear whom attacked first ran right through the blade, and thus didn't catch any of the wind torrent, though it had a gash that cut through its intestines and a good amount of its waist.

All of the Gears started to rush in on Quint, at which point Ky intervened. He distracted enough so that the rest of the soldiers could get out, and Ky would go and help Quint, so he would not die. He disliked him, but wanting him to die...no, he needed as much man strength as he could get. The three Gears who kept watch of the Seikishidan in the elevator sprinted forward at the first confirmed step of Ky off of it, who blocked one of their attacks, following it with a searing torso slash, sending the Gear to the ground. The next on to his left was met with a short jab, which unbalanced the Gear, who was then stabbed three times by three different Seikishidan soldiers, following Ky who sprinted forward to the enclosing circle on Quint.

Swinging in half-circle motions around him, quickly and furiously, Quint kept the Gears at bay, who had learned to dig their claws into the ground and brace for the typhoon at each swing of the sword. Adaptive learning, a quirk of Justice's battle programming. While Siren wasn't an A.I., she had certain...abilities to learn simple things, such as if this soldier swings this sword, brace the Gears in the mathematical vicinity of the slash.

"Heaven or Hell..." Quint murmured to the oncoming Ky as he ran up, slashing right and left at any Gear he could as he tried to break the oncoming storm upon Darton.

"Let's rock." Ky said back, somewhat unconscious of why he did, but it just popped into his mind, an uncontrollable urge to do so. The rest of the Seikishidan soldiers, the five of them, ran up behind Ky, razing down two Gears amongst the total of them, teaming up to preoccupy one, the other stabbing it, then the first one slashing for the kill blow. They all culminated in the center near Kiske and Darton, each of them facing outwards to the twenty some odd Gears that circled and attacked around them. They each had to take two or more Gears, switching enemies every attack.

Jaygus was the last to follow into the circle of seven, including him, turning around on the toes of his left foot, which reached the center first, bringing his standard issue sword up above him and down through the arm of an oncoming Gear, shearing it off. The Gear assessed the situation in a second, the attacking arm now gone, splats of blood finding its home on Jaygus' uniform, and drips falling off of the sword that did the removing. It jumped forward to bite Jaygus. Its other arm, a gimped one, small and useless, like when the Gear was finished, Justice realized it only had one arm, and added one as an afterthought (Not literally added, since it is genetic, though that is how it looked) was useless, so battle protocol had it try and use its sharpened teeth. Bringing up his sword, the blood flying off of it as the wind rushed by each side, Jaygus stepped back, swinging his sword in a downward diagonal, the sword finding solace in the soft flesh next to the neck, behind the clavicle, throwing the Gear down in mid-air, collapsing on the ground in a final growl, then limp. Putting his foot on the dead carcass, Jaygus ripped his sword out of the sinew, and attacked another.

Unnatural flashes of blue lit the enemies for the Seikishidan soldiers surrounding Atlas, each slash from Ky bringing definition to the faceless enemy that onslaughted them from the confines of a midnight, also pierced by the golden arrows of God through nature's advents in the ceiling. Though God's arrows were deflected by Lucifer's shield, the blots of light shining through a pale gray of dust clouding the stagnant and repugnant air that carried the scent of innumerable carcasses littering Floor C, as well as the moonlight cascading a dull light, though light all the same, Lucifer's own intervention still showing his angelic side, though in mal-intent. It would be morning in an hour, it would be a great sight to see, though they had to get out of the warehouse, then up to Floor F, and hope to get out from there, through the sky light, as their last option.

Quint kicked out the foot of a Gear who ran at him, leaping strides with each of its animalistic lunges, though it stood up because of its massive speed, raising itself to attack as well. The hind leg reached forward, Quint stepping back, then kicking it out with his own foot, feeling the brittle shin snap as he kicked it. The Gear fell down on the broken side, all of its forward momentum twisting itself to the side, slamming into the ground. As it hit, Darton brought his sword upward in a slash toward the ceiling, twisting his entire body with it. The blade slipped between ribs, the sinew ripped, then the following tornado ripped through the ribs that the blade left untouched, pounding the internal organs to a pulp and sending the Gear racing along the ground, twisting as it rolled, smashing its features into a bloody mess. It finally rolled to a stop about fifty feet away in the darkness, its last breath seeping out of it, as well as everything else.

They all fought through their fatigue and through their hunger, through the sweat dripping from their hair, perspiring inside of their uniforms, their blades dull of use, hands shaky of shock and fear, disillusionment and hostility, the will to live and the will to persist. However much it hurt to keep fighting, however much it hurt to keep moving, they continued on. To die would be so much simpler, no more pain, no more sweating, no more hurt in every part of their bodies in every move and every breath, with every waking moment being Hell itself, when fighting for the glory of Heaven.

Stabbing in front of him, both hands on the grip, Ky's attack was deflected, the blade glinting off of the ground. He jumped backward, bringing the blade up in front of him across his body, his enemy's blade brushing off of his, and attacking again, and again. Ky couldn't see every attack, he didn't know what to do consciously, though he moved his body to fend off each blow from the Gear, and did so stunningly, as each volley was blocked and all of the momentum behind the attack diverted. The Gear attacking him then made one final attack, a stab, which Ky jumped back again into the circle, swinging the Fuuraiken in front of him in a circle, like a shield, though it was too far ahead of him, his arms not yet following his body's example, the sword slicing off the attacker's hand at the wrist.

The Gear curdled in pain, jumping back, gasping with the haggard and torn jaws it had mutated into, but only for a moment before Siren and programming subroutines re-routed its nervous functions to an inhibited sense. A tooth ripped through its own gum and up through its face. It had bored its own tunnel through bone to rest through its upper cheek, and was more than eight inches long. It retracted into its skull as its lower jaw opened to scream, and pierced through the opening again as it clenched its jaws, the clench in sync with the blade that stuck through its gut, finding air back again through the top of its back. The unholy sword stuck through all of the major organs, up from its belly to under its neck. Ky ripped his sword out, the top hole emitting a small black smoke as the internals charred themselves on the electricity surging through them. In the few seconds Ky had to look at the dying Gear in front of him, partial victory, it was abruptly interrupted.

"Gaaah!" he screamed, falling down onto one knee. He didn't know why he screamed at first, nor did he know why he fell, his adrenaline was too high and the instantaneous turn of events left him mentally unprepared for what happened. He looked upward, his hand still clenched on his prized sword, seeing the Gear above him grinning at its handiwork, readying for the kill, its eyes turning in the flesh-barren eye sockets, the red hue to the eyeballs, removed of all moisture. "Die!" Ky screamed, swinging his sword in a horizontal low arc from his kneeling position. The Gear above changed its facial expression with the small amounts of flesh it had to use, a small uncertainty then pain, and finally, anger. It toppled backward, removed from its ankles, and was then met with the Gear killing blade through its sternum. Ripping his blade from the center of the dead Gear, Kiske stood up straight, his eyes guiding him to the next Gear. He leaned forward to run, and fell back down to his knees, gasping hard and angrily. _What's happening...am I dying? Why can't I get up, come on, move…What did it do to me? I can't feel anything...I want to get up, to move, to kill the Gears who scorn these holy grounds, yet I cannot move! Come on, Kiske! Get up, move!_ The adrenaline and resolve pumped in his veins, so much so that nothing else mattered or lived in his own perceptions, except for himself at that moment. He stood up slowly, picking himself up, wondering what had happened. Then, he took a step forward, his body arching again, yet he kept himself on both feet, then saw the drips of blood formulating under him. It was a bright crimson, still alive, not like the coagulated globs the Gears had, their dark, oily blood that seemed to ooze. It flowed, it was lively and a testament to the difference of the real humanity of Gears or humans.

_Oh no...Where? Where is it? Did it hit anything vital? I can't feel it!_ Kiske stood slowly, now aware he was hurt, and then felt the twinge of pain running all along his body, centralized in his back, and spreading from there. _Seikishidan medical procedure says that most...pain is from the back, as it is...the, shit, it's the...center of nerves and..._ The blood loss was starting to get to him, the fatigue not helping, and jogging his memory in the few moments were proving more difficult. Also, his demeanor had started to change. In the most animalistic of behaviors, morals and teachings were pushed aside to ferallity, considering Kiske would never use curse words.

He swung his sword again, the blade now heavier in his hands and his eyes ringing in darkness, grunting and yelling a wordless slur of anger.

Ky reached up behind his neck once the tip of his sword clanked to the ground as one of his hands left the hilt, bringing his hand back in front of him, the blood dripping from his fingers. He fell to both knees, looking at his hand again, the crimson now turning dark, his vision jumping, turning darker. He gripped the Fuuraiken tight, with all his will, yet his hand seemed not to move with his commands of his brain, and he heard the echoing thunder of it on the ground like a distant memory, the metallic bangs flying miles away. He blinked, trying to restore his vision, but it pounded on heavier, then he fell flat on his face, feeling the sword lying underneath him, and it went all black.

**_-X- Author's Notes –X-_**  
- Zeronova's Notes:  
- Well, I added in one conversation in the beginning I forgot to put in last week's chapter. This chapter on the whole was smaller than the rest of them, but I feel that I got all of the points I needed to hit done perfectly in it, so I didn't need to use more words. In plus, I was a little bit over the word limit with a few other chapters, so this should fit in nicely to round off the 55k marker, and if it is a little bit short, big deal, the next chapters will go over 5000 words by a couple hundred, and will make up the 1200 word deficit this chapter has. Anyway, you can start to see the differences in this chapter compared to the old version of the story. Also, and maybe this is just me, but I think that certain parts of my old story and this one would work better altogether. This one changes some things that I would rather have remained as they used to be, but I can't change that now. And, things here trounce the old ones by far. On the whole, I'd pick Dual Enmity over the original, but I feel nostalgia towards my previous offering, seeing as it was my first real public writing and my pet project I wanted to do great things with. Oh well, this is way too long for an author blurb, time to cut it off.  
**_-X- End Author's Notes –X-_**


	12. Arc 1: Rise and shine

**_-X- Introduction -X-_**_  
- Desolate Gail__ Redux_  
_ - Started on: 5-17-2004 / Posted on: 8-2-2004 / Checked on: 3-11-2005  
- By: Zeronova  
- Chapter 12: Rise and shine_

_- _Text: Third person, Narration  
- _Text_: First person, Thoughts  
- **Text**: Interjection, the Narrator****

**_X- End Introduction -X-_**

_I feel…light, somehow unattached, where am I? What am I doing? I feel like I can fly, yet I cannot move. I feel free, yet bound by chains of guilt. What is this? What trap has God bestowed upon me, to test me, give me a hurdle to overcome, such as Abraham and Jacob? How can I dodge something I cannot move to avoid though? Jesus, give me strength to the do these things I must. Wait, what was that? Sounded like voices, is it You, giving me direction, leading me? Maybe…I can't remember, how did I get here? Come on, Kiske, think…how, where, why… Oh yes, I remember. The Gear, above me, I killed it, but then I passed out. There was blood on my back, my neck, I remember I couldn't move, I felt nothing, only a coldness, a biting, sharp stab and twinge of the icy fingers of Death clutching my soul to hurtle it to the depths of an abyss of which God couldn't retrieve me from. And…here I am. I can't see anything, yet I see softness. I cannot hear, yet I know of lulls. I cannot feel, yet it feels tender and warm. Where am I? What do I see and know in this void?_

"He moved…"

_Come to, Kiske. Don't go to the light, you have business to do. That's what they say, is God's plan much different? How would me dying serve God's ultimate purpose for me? It doesn't, not at all. My purpose is to fight in the name of God, to kill Justice, save humanity from its own ignorance in creating such a weapon, that then abused it and led this war. I must live further, fight further, kill Justice. Get up, live again, move, breath, do it, Kiske._

He's coming around. Sir, can you hear me?" _Open your eyes, live further, Atlas._ "There you are, sir." Ky met the short and thin spiked hair of Jaygus, that stood straight up from the sweat and exhaustion floating through his breaths and body, his hair matted with sweat, which he ran his hand through, the hair standing up on end, trying to brush it back flat and slicked backward with his now drying sweat. The tips were a dark black against the soft light pervading through each strand, the bottoms a gray hew of silver. Ky opened his mouth to speak, yet his words came out a garbled mess of noises and sounds. "Shh, you're injured sir, we are tending to your injury. Hold still." Jaygus said soothingly, that undeniable niceness of his, to all and not taken aback by or for anyone, the sincerity dripping from each word.

Ky convulsed slightly, a pain shooting him from his slightly euphoric and dazed state. His body contracted and shot out again, blood pumping through his veins. He looked around the place he occupied as he did, it was a small officer's lounge, like the one they had entered the warehouse in on Floor C.

"Oh yeah, that shit stings." Quint said with a slight smirk, leaning against a far wall, looking down on the injured Ky, who had a white foaming crust around the wound, which was causing him immense amounts of pain. Atlas clenched his teeth in pain, and also in anger at Darton, the duplicated reason for instant feeling making the pain in his back seem somewhat less. His face flushed with emotion, a red tide washing over his frail, pale French skin, the light blonde hair frazzled and dried out from the sweat that evaporated out of it, covering the azure eyes that pierced like the beams of Justice.

"Where…am I?" Kiske said through clenched teeth, feeling the tip of a needle piercing the burning skin.

"Sir, do not talk, save your strength." Jaygus said, his voice bellowing, yet still undeniably friendly, like a father who never tired of the antics of his son, no matter how bad or insane. "Let me answer the best I can to what you may ask instead." Jaygus continued, each stab of the needle sending spikes of pain racing through Kiske. "We're out of the warehouse, we finished off the Gears, though the humanoid types we encountered below have surely found another way up, so we're not out of it yet. We just got out, you've been out for about an hour. It seems that a Gear got you pretty bad back here. He gashed right across your shoulder blades; I'd say an inch deep. Grazed your spine, lucky it didn't sever anything. It isn't bleeding that bad, though as soon as you get rest and water, it will. We sanitized the wound with some supplies from the warehouse, and now I am stitching you up. That answer the majority?" Jaygus said slowly, the affirmed nod from the pain stricken face of Kiske.

Small crystalline tears formed at the edges of Ky's clenched eyelids, the frail boy inside showing through the leader of humanity façade.

"By the way, thanks Darton." Jaygus said, nodding. Darton made a low _tsk_ noise, then nodded back, as if he didn't want to be acknowledged for what he did. Ky had a questioning glance as to what Darton and Jaygus had in mind, but was quickly relieved of the thought as the pain from his back punched him in the gut to remind him it was the most important thing to him, to stay on his mind rather than Darton or Jaygus. He'd file it in his memory to come back on later.

"Hey, you know the time?" Darton asked to another soldier who stood adjacent to him on the other wall.

"Nah, but by the sunlight from the sky light, I'd say dawn." He said kind of sarcastically, though with a trepidation that only showed that he was unsure of Quint's intent by what he said, if it was humorous or serious.

"Oh, well, duh." Quint said, like he should have immediately known. The soldiers who had spit on him and had disdain for him as their leader, Ky had, seemed to vanish, replaced with a mild respect and equal taste, and distaste, for each other. By no means were any of the soldiers readily accepting him, but what they had thus been through, they were more amicable to him than their immediate aversion earlier on.

"How many…" Ky stifled out.

"Me, you, Darton, and two others, a lieutenant and a private." Jaygus said softly, tending to Ky. He seemed to father Ky, sensing the inner insecurity that bled from Kiske, of which he tried to lock tight so no one would know it existed, but through all of the years Jaygus had on Kiske, nearly twenty, he knew a bit more than he, though Jaygus still trusted Kiske's judgment, he was the commanding officer. Also, how could anyone grow if they were always told what to do? Kiske would build character and be a fine man from what he was given, Jaygus knew, but also had a special reason for being so nice to Kiske. **Jaygus' own special reasons are going to be left a secret for now, as many things else have been so far.**

"Another day, another sun rises, like the last, and like the one that will rise tomorrow. Kind of ironic, huh?" Darton said, motioning for Jaygus to respond. The seasoned soldier only gave him a slight nod, knowing his meaning. Darton took a look out of the small officer's lounge, standing on one of the undamaged walls, the others littered with cracks and blossoms of blood from bodies removed. The door to the secret warehouse had been sealed behind them, for if one Gear slipped away from their initial battle, and came lurking back, it could kill most, if not all, while they were currently unprepared. The wall had been ripped off from the titanium door sliding, not like Kiske had removed it from the outside on Floor C, but how it was removed from the inside by the door itself this time. The crumbs of dry wall and the static white dust lie on the floor, aching to be rustled from the rest it so hated, no wall to cling to and give texture, it'd rather be free than captive to gravity.

**I haven't had a lengthy author intervention in a while, and I think now, especially those poetic words Darton used, deserve a bit of insight. Another day, another sun rises, like the last, and like the one that will rise tomorrow. What does that mean? Jaygus knew, and I know, since I wrote that. Would the real Darton have said that? Possibly, though being an author, I see fit to add my own little touches here and there. Not to mention it gives a nice touch to the situation, which is by all means true. Anyway, onto the statement.**

**The sun raises always, not dependant on any factor. Nothing on Earth can stop the sun from rising and setting, it does so away from the control of man or Gear, unchanged and will be like that of our great grandchildren, and was like that for our ancestors. Nothing short of God can change that, yet that undeniable reality of something that will never change truly brings into question how can this war go on? This same sun rose on our ancestors as they built Justice, and rises on us as we fight him. Even if we lose this war, the sun rises for the Gears instead of humanity, it rises no matter what, on winner and loser, victorious and dead, it takes no prejudice or choice. Yet, it still has a small will. The sun is always a very beautiful thing, that no one short of God could change, yet it has its own little quirks.**

**A few of the rumors that I have heard from an escaped inmate of the Japanese Repopulation Colonies said that the sun that rises in Japan is bigger than the horizon, and is redder than the lust of a thousand bachelors for the most beautiful of all women God crafted. That sun rose red the day Japan was destroyed, and seems to be dyed red since, perpetuating the blood that was thrown into the heavens, the day the Crusades was started when the Gears massed and annihilated Japan. That same sun rises small and dim in the arctic though. It stays in the sky for a month, and then hides for the next, like a celestial game of hide and go seek.**

**Though, if Justice had killed Ky that day, the sun would have still rose, shining glory upon Justice, shining sadness upon humanity, or a hope in a new savior for the few remaining humans, and maybe a renewed vigor for the war on Justice. It would be different for everyone, everywhere, yet it is the exact same, and still very distinct. Amazing thing, the sun is. I admire it, undeniably. Maybe that's what God thinks. He let the Gears be made, wage war, going on for a century now, why hasn't he intervened? Does He just sit there and watch, constantly viewing the events with an unwavering eye and an uncurbed brow, looking to neither side for victory, but merely spectator to this war? Ky would like not to believe it, he would pledge his life God was in favor of the Seikishidan, and Justice would claim that he was a God himself, yet the real God…where exactly _does_ He sit on this century long war? We'll never know, but we can try and decipher His signs.**

A small clang of metal reverberated through the mildly silent officer's lounge, the needle Jaygus was using dropping to the ground in finality.

"There you go, sir. All sewed up." Jaygus said paternally, standing up, then extending his own hand to help the boy to his feet. Ky lazily stood up, still groggy and in pain. The blood loss, coupled with the adrenaline that evacuated his body at the moment of the blow, and left a present of grogginess and uneasiness until the second he woke, like an executioner waiting for the victim to blink, daring him to make one wrong move. Ky stumbled over himself and was quickly helped back up by the lieutenant, who Ky in turn thanked with a haggard mouth.

Kiske dusted himself off, looking around once regaining his balance. The officer's lounge was like the others throughout the complex, simple and effective. It had a desk with a phone that connected to every other officer's lounge, one for every few rows of soldier dorms. They served as information posts, as well as hang out spots. They had small vending machines, extra materials that were needed, especially a stack of extra Bibles. The commanding officer also, the highest ranking one among the governed rooms, stationed the room for an eight hour shift, then the next consecutive officer came for eight, and the next lower for eight. The three-man shift worked everyday on their times, and were essentially glorified nannies to the soldiers in their dormitory range. They were soldiers on call, true, and fought, yet to the soldiers they led, they were the supreme authority. In battle, they followed Kiske, but when it got fierce and dirty, they followed their highest ranking officer in their dorm range. They tended to the soldiers, referred them to medics, relieved them of service, and whatever was needed. Once graduating from that post, they moved to a new dorm, where they were once again the smallest rank. Each floor had privates, lieutenants, and sergeants, respectively split in thirds along the length of it. Among the privates, there were ranks from first class all the way to fourth, first being the highest, same going for lieutenants and sergeants.

The room had been trashed, the small vending machines raided, the glass broken in and all of the food inside rotten or gone. The food had to be supplied by the on-site kitchen, so most of it was perishable. Either fruits or crudely packaged dried meats, all prepared on base and within the past 24 hours. No food was ever wasted, since the machines were free, except they needed verification of the personnel using it, which was done through a pad and pen. The Seikishidan didn't try and keep track of who used it and not, they needed soldiers in peak condition, wanting what they want as well, since they were giving their necks, and in return food. The officer on duty saw all that they took anyway, so it wasn't stealing, and no soldiers dared to take too much, but were not reserved in not wanting any. The rest of the room had been ransacked; cracks along the walls, a big splotch of red on the far wall, and a streak towards the ground, where a soldier was skewered up on the wall, and slid down from the Gear that removed its blade from the pinned soldier. The desk had been turned on its side, half of it splintered across the floor with papers lying in scattered disarray. Half of the doorway was busted off, a half-circle around where the frame should have been, where Gears flooded into the room, killing the soldiers barricaded inside. Ky finished looking around, counting the five of the soldiers, including himself, then, his eyes flashed open, silent, standing suddenly completely straight up, a cold shiver sent down his back. He turned to Jaygus, a bit of fear in his eyes.

"Where is it?" he whisperingly spat out.

"Excuse me?" Jaygus said, politely.

"Here." Darton said, picking "it" up off of the floor, and tossing it at Kiske, who caught it expertly, holding it firmly in place of where he caught it for a second, examining it. The "it" was the Fuuraiken. He skimmed his eyes up and down it for a while, looking at it, then sheathed it slowly, his eyes transfixed on Darton. Once he had already lost it to Darton, and he didn't like anyone else having it, since it was one of the things Justice feared, and that it was a gift from Kliff to him, a priceless gift. A small grateful remark slithered out between Ky's teeth as he turned to walk out of the small room, Darton hearing it, but not all the most gratified by how it was delivered.

"You'd think he'd have a little grace to give me, eh?" Darton said to Jaygus with a smirk as he walked out, Ky and the other two soldiers already out of the room. Jaygus stopped in his steps, the other's trailing in echoes outside of the door. The gray of his hair seemed to have made its way slowly more upward through his jet black, wavy hair, as Darton saw when he turned. _Can't blame the guy, war'll work a number on ya._

"I wouldn't persist on that notion, Mr. Darton." Jaygus said very tacitly. "Very simply put, I think it would be best, to all of our interests, if he didn't know. It would only complicate things, for now. Maybe when we're all out of here, alive and looking back, then would be good."

"Eh, maybe. Let's catch up." Darton said in an eschewed response, walking out of the smashed doorway, Jaygus following in succession. Darton found his pace behind the lieutenant, his uniform lined in a dull orange, now even more dull from the dirt and sweat that permeated every fabric they all wore. The whites of their Godly outfits had been turned speckled brown and crimson, dirt accentuating the medals of the slain. Even Kiske's blue trimmed uniform, signifying his leadership status, had been slightly torn and dirtied, the azure that matched his eyes turned a dull placid blue.

"What's the plan, leader?" Darton said contrived, still sour from his little conversation with Jaygus about whom he addressed.

"Escape through the sky light, wait for evac." he said slowly, not looking back, but plodding forward. Floor E was relatively clean, compared to the likes of Floor C, which resembled an unearthed graveyard. Not many soldiers made their way to Floor E and F before the Gears destroyed the stair sets, or used other methods of getting to higher ground. Few bodies were strung across the walkway, few holes in the cement and cracks along the walls made the scenery more illustrious. Indeed there were signs of Gears and battles waged, but compared to where most of it occurred on Floor C, Floor E was a janitorial clean up. It wasn't terrible, though not like Floor C, which would have to be completely renovated, if the facility was to be used again.

A small weight from the fitness center on Floor C had a metal chain through it and had been situated through a railing on Floor D, Quint noted as he walked by. _Someone probably slung that across the gap and climbed up it. Not a bad idea, but not a good one either. _His scanning eyes perused upward also to Floor F, and the elusive skylight. The dome, about twenty feet across, sat in the middle of the gap between each side of Floor F, in the direct center of the gaps and one length side to another. The forty-five foot gap between each of the twenty feet walkways made getting out a bit of a struggle, but since the cargo room on Floor C was destroyed, it was their only chance, besides tunnel out.

"Hey Kiske..." Quint said slowly, genuinely trying to get his attention without malice in his voice.

"What?" Ky shot back, without looking at who was talking to him, automatically taking a violent aural battlefield with him.

"Check out the sky light." Ky looked up slowly as he walked, somewhat over his shoulder, since they were walking past it, towards the same end they occupied on Floor C, before they abandoned Quint. The dome, twenty feet across, with a curve of about three feet from the flat ceiling, was destroyed. The glass of the dome fit over an apex of four struts, forming an eight-point circle, that had a metal ring welded to all of it to hold it in, none of which resembled its former self. The glass had been smashed in the center, pieces of it removed and lying in glittering fragments on Floor A, which was the only floor with a solid base, and no gap in-between it. One side section still remained, since the glass was reinforced and triple layered, so if one part cracked and broke, the entire thing wouldn't follow in succession. The metal that held it up had been bent inward, and ripped off. Pieces lied in disarray on Floor A also, and others were bent and twisted like paper, odd formations of the steel above, like steel jaws. A slight dew from the morning had taken home in the crevices of the metal and pooling in a small formation on the flat side of another bent rail, dripping consecutively with each drop, spaced about ten seconds a piece.

"...This...is not a dire problem." Ky said, unsure of his own words as he continually stepped forward, eyes transfixed on the mangled skylight. "Well, it would have been impossible for us to break it anyway, so this is an improvement. I cannot break through three panes of reinforced glass, with steel wiring between each, and a welded metal frame that had been built right into the cement super structure. God has given us His graces." Ky said, looking at the better side of the situation, his words ending in a high note of praise from his low beginning.

Darton could find no fallacy in Kiske's words for once, and simply kept his mouth shut. While, it would be a bitch to get out of without snagging a limb, you _could_ get out now.

"Alright...how do we get to Floor F then?" Darton said, just trying to find something negative and wrong with how Kiske thought and planned. Challenging Kiske's authority was something Darton excelled at, especially with Darton's view on Kiske being only sixteen, undeserving of the responsibility given to him, and unable to cope with it.

"Darton, shut up." Ky said, plodding forward, the soldiers in sync with him. Kiske, at this point, had lost most of his leadership morals, and focused on surviving. While still having to be a leader and a prominent figure in the soldier's fate, they had seen him at his best, and his worse thus far, from being an injured child, to a fighting essence of victory, and saying the right words to prove he was right for the job had gone to Hell. Also, with the survivors slowly dwindling, he didn't need to lead an army, just them. They all felt the stress and hardship of the war, the political side of being a leader wasn't important to them, just as long as Kiske got them out, he was enough of Kliff's heir. All of them shared the sentiment, except for Quint, who had his own agenda. **His agenda, while slightly known, will not yet be revealed. Major plot points, including the secret I just revealed earlier in this chapter. You'll have to wait to know them, my dear and devoted reader. Why else would you be reading this now, after so many words and chapters? By this point, I believe I have your undivided willingness to finish my story, tell the fate of this world and these people. Though, that does not mean I will not keep things secret until the opportune moment to tell them. I like you for reading this far, no doubt, but I don't like you _that_ much, not until you finish it. And by then, I think you'll like me, so we'll be on good terms as well. Or...maybe you won't, I guess it depends on what you think of…wait, can't say that, major plot points. Keep reading, my friends, keep reading.**

They kept walking, the skylight becoming a distant object illuminated from the upcoming sun, but not close enough to make out the mangled beams. The oncoming bend in the walkway was coming, the half circle that connected both sides of the headquarters, the stairway as collapsed as it was when they were on Floor C. It had been razed from Floor F all the way down, like a boulder had been dropped from the top, crunching all the way to Floor D, where they couldn't traverse previously. They all found a spot to site or stand among the wreckage of the stair set, situated between two elevator shafts.

"Here you go, Kiske. Now what? Use our God given angelic wings to ascend to Floor F and out of here?" Darton roused. Ky didn't respond, circling around the wreckage, striding to the railing, looking around, back up, and surveying again. Quint watched him for a minute before clearing his throat, waiting for an answer. Ky stood up against the elevator shaft, knocking on the two dulled steel doors, the shined silver a non-reflective dull. Some privates would have gotten duty to shine the elevator doors on Floor E, as well as a different set for every floor. Everyone had duties, and they kept the headquarters looking new and running smooth, as it should. Shining railings, sweeping, washing, as well as training, learning, and living, simply. **I've gone over this before, how people want to live at the Seikishidan because all it offers, yet it still is a military organization, so it has standards and sets of rules, as well as a schedule and jobs. Though, they never dismissed a soldier for misconduct, since every soldier was needed to fight against the Gears, and lucky for the Seikishidan, most of the remnants of humanity wanted to fight all they could against the Gears, so infighting was very minimal, as well as insubordination. Not to be a hypocrite, I re-iterate minimal, considering Quint.**

Fitting his fingers between the two sides of the cold elevator, Ky situated both of his legs, and tugged on the sides. Without electricity, they were each a solid hundred pounds to move, and were rather tedious, as well. He grunted as he pulled, all of the attention focused on what he was doing. The sounds echoed, the metal screeching on itself as it slowly moved along the tracks, as well as Ky's exhausted grunts. He opened it a few inches, before taking a gasp and testing for a second, where one of the soldiers jumped in and helped him. In a matter of another minute, it was wide open. Inside, it was dark, very dark. No light permeated the shaft, making it more ominous than the warehouse, which had minimal lighting. Two solo wires hung in the middle, stoic and slowly waving back and forth with the draft of air from outside swooping to overtake the stale air inside. Both cables were very thick weaved metal, capable of carrying the elevators that ascended and descended those shafts, which could accommodate twenty soldiers (a bit snugly, but still could).

"This is how" Kiske said, a smirk on his face as he turned to face Darton. He motioned for the soldiers to gather up around him, and they all obliged, even Darton, fitting in the small group around the elevator shaft.

"Damn...better not fall." Darton said, leaning his head inside. Breathing in deep, then spitting out, he watched it fall into the darkness, which seemed to swallow it up and embrace anything that dared come into its abode. A small splash was heard, echoing off of the cement walls like a rocket about twenty second later, surprising them all a little.

"We're using this to get up to Floor F. Either we climb the cables or...well, I don't know." Kiske said plainly.

"Sir, we can use that." Jaygus said slowly, arching his arm inward of the doors. Leaning his head into the shaft, Kiske saw what he was pointing at. A small service ladder led from the bottom floor to the top, slightly indented to be out of the way of the elevator's pathway, though it was around to the side of the door.

"How the hell are we going to get to that?" Darton asked. "I don't see a how-to guide, I don't see any bungies." All of the soldiers sent him a defiant glare, all symbolizing "shut up". Even Jaygus, whose stoic manner was usually as solid as the surface of a pond in winter, seemed to implore in his expression for Quint to be quiet.

"...We need a median." Ky said, examining the ladder again, the small square of light filtering in through the open doors he stood in-between. "We can't jump straight to the ladder from here, it's impossible. We need another thing, to jump to from here, then jump from that to the ladder. Something, if we had a platform, or even a ledge. The wires would be our only chance, but those would most likely be our own death."

"Sir, maybe Darton has an answer." Jaygus said, looking over to Quint with confidence. Darton was also amused at the statement, for its randomness and that he had absolutely no idea what Jaygus meant.

"'Scuse me?" he chortled.

"That thing snug in your belt." Jaygus said, nodding to the top of an object protruding from under the confines of the leather. Darton looked down, not knowing, then recognized what he meant, and quickly responded.

"What? No, no way. Screw that," he defensively said, tucking it out of sight.

"What is that?" Ky asked slightly, stepping past Jaygus. "If it can help us get out of here, I want to use it." he said simply.

"Well, it can't. He's out of his damned mind." Darton violently replied.

"Darton..." Jaygus said paternally, like he didn't want to press the matter with more words than necessary and just wanted compliance.

"You don't even know what the hell it is, Jaygus."

"It's a knife." Jaygus shot back almost instantly, without any emotion or lingering questioning in his voice, it was matter of fact.

"How do you know?" Quint fired at him defensively. He was on his toes, his eyes shifting quickly, nervous and not knowing what to do, a cornered animal.

"You left us on Floor C to go get something from your locker, and that's got to be it. I'm sure it's special for you to go back for it, and not use it in battle. But, I'm thinking if we stab that into the wall, we can jump to it, then off of it to the ladder."

"It's a goddamn knife, it can't pierce cement, or be used as an apex, it's a goddamn knife, man." Quint replied, his demeanor increasingly defensive and violent. He was willing to protect the knife to the end.

"Well, let's see it." Ky said, folding his arms. Now that it had been brought up, at least even mentioned, and they needed anything they could get, he wouldn't take no for an answer. Darton took a step back, his hand instinctively moving to the knife, scanning the eyes of all of the soldiers, whom now all seemed intent on seeing it. He sighed in defeat, and pulled it out. It seemed pretty normal; it had a wrapped grip with an old and soiled cloth, worn with years of abuse, bits of blood and oil on it, burn holes around part of it, tears and ragged lines of material hanging loosely. There was a sheath on it as well, though it was more than the standard issue Seikishidan ones. It was a mahogany, polished years ago, the shiny attire worn and tarnished, bits chipped and scraped. It was latched to the rest of the knife by a small piece of lace, wrapped around the handle. Quint slowly undid the knot, sliding the knife out of the sheath, slipping it back into the security of his belt. The blade was a straight variant, one side sharpened, the other dull, a descendant of a bowie knife, though only slightly. The one sharpened side had been abused with the years of use, the sharpness slightly dulled, and marks along the metal of it that signified many times it had been resharpened. It had seen its days of combat, and looked ready for retirement. The blunt side arched to a top, reaching to the sharpened side, topping at about six inches.

He held out in his open palm for viewing. Ky stepped forward to look, Quint flinching backward, his hand clasping over it slightly, then relaxing.

"See? just an ordinary knife, now let's find"

"Wait." Jaygus said, looking at the knife closer, stepping forward. He looked at Quint, nodded, and then picked it up with both hands from Darton, who hazardly let him have it, watching him intently like it was a newborn. He held the grip in one hand, his other palm resting the tip in the center of it. He turned it, looking down the side of it, felt the weight, and observed it, obviously knowing something that Darton didn't. But, what Darton didn't realize was how he was being watched by Jaygus. Darton's eyes were transfixed on the knife, not wanting to let it out of his sights, not seeing that Jaygus was monitoring him more than the knife. He turned and handed it back to Quint, who grabbed it and sheathed it quickly.

"He's right, it's just a normal knife. Won't pierce cement nor hold the weight of a man." Jaygus concluded, a smirk on his face. He turned to Ky, the smirk still sitting prominently on his lips.

"Now what?" he questioned.

"Well, one of us needs to get up there, then find a way to get us up there. Find some supplies, do something. We can't get up the shaft."

"I'm sure you can find a couple of clothes without anymore owners if you look in the dorms." Quint mused. "But wait. What the hell was the point of that?" Darton approached on Jaygus, stepping forward, demanding his attention to his question.

"With the knife? Simple, Mr. Darton. I was confirming something for myself."

"Oh, and what the hell was that?"

"That you do care about something." Jaygus said with a smirk. Darton took a step back, as if the words pounded him with the force of a hundred Gears. _That I care? What the hell? Just cause I hate the Seikishidan, I never said I didn't care...what's this old man thinking? He's out of his mind..._

"Anyway, let's get started." Jaygus said, motioning to Ky. Before he leaned inside of the elevator shaft, he looked back at Quint, that smirk still plastered on his face. It was genuine, a smile that had a thousand words. But, Quint knew what he meant by it. It's okay, don't worry, I know. I'm not going to tell, I needed to confirm it, I understand.

**_-X- Author's Notes –X-_**  
- Zeronova's Notes:  
- Well, another drama chapter, as opposed to action. I think this developed Jaygus a bit more, whether Samu thinks it is in his character's best interests or not, I do think it is (after out extended discussions). Also, I've brought Darton's knife out this time, making a much bigger plot point this time than in the original DG. I expect next will be more drama oriented as well, and then chapter 14 being the showdown. It's getting close to where I left off the original DG, but if I keep up my regiment, this should break through my previous barricade. Enjoy.  
**_-X- End Author's Notes –X-_**


	13. Arc 1: Just another day in the service

**_-X- Introduction -X-_**_  
- Desolate Gail:__ Redux_  
_ - Started on: 5-17-2004 / Posted on: 8-9-2004 / Checked on: 3-13-2005  
- By: Zeronova  
- Chapter 13: Just another day in the service_

_- _Text: Third person, Narration  
- _Text_: First person, Thoughts  
- **Text**: Interjection, the Narrator

**_X- End Introduction -X-_**

_Just straight, then jump. Don't think about it, don't worry. You'll make it, God wouldn't let me die. I have a purpose, I will live. Just go. Breath in, on three. Alright, come on, get it together. One...here goes, to the jump, simple, just grab the ladder. Two...you'll do it and lead them all further, out of here, saving them, in Kliff's footsteps. Three...GO!_ Ky took one stutter step, his left foot skidding backward until it found a spot in the cement, and his body leapt forward, running in stride with each step, faster and harder, approaching the elevator shaft from the side. He was coming at it from a steep angle, so he could get through the doors, but close enough to the ladder. Jumping to the ladder was impossible, it was out of reach and directly to the right of the doors, so he had to jump to the side of it, onto the cement, and hope he could grab it as he flew by and not fall, and in the worst case, die. But, he wouldn't...he couldn't.

His final step edged slightly over the lip of the elevator door, bending down on the leg, and catapulting himself forward through the darkness to the elevator, tinged slightly by the reflection of invading light. The walls played his image across them, blotting out the light with his frame, like a spectator, the visceral image upon their eyes played upon the walls, watching and waiting silently for the conclusion. He felt time would never end, it infinitely stretched out as he was in air, waiting to see if he could do it. His own brain working faster than time, thoughts racing through his head. Whether he'd live, if God would permit it, or if God would watch him die, what then? If he died, he couldn't lead, Justice would win the war, humanity gone. If he grabbed hold, he'd lead the Seikishidan to ultimate victory. Could he, would he, he had to, he couldn't afford not to, his life was the gamble, and with his life sat the lives of all of the humans in the world, a lofty sum. The one leap of faith by Kiske was in turn the leap of faith for everyone in the war, both humans and Gears, for if he died, Gears would win, if he didn't, he still had a war to fight and continue on.

He smashed into the wall with all of his forward force, standing still in time on the wall, before gravity dragged him down. His eyes saw the ladder, close, within reach. He told his arm to move, to grab, quickly, yet it moved in slow motion. He tried to climb up along the wall, his feet moving like blocks of cement slipping on the smooth side. His hand finally reached the ladder, fingers passing along the smooth metal, cold to the touch, then they slid off. He panicked, slowly sliding down, time catching up, seeing the small light from the open doors fading faster and faster above him, a few heads poking out to see him. He reached again for the ladder, his fingers smashing onto a rung and slipping off, then reached once more. He felt the rung smash into the bones of his fingers, all his weight supported by it and grunted heavily, twitching around the coldness of the steel hold, a signal that it was the ladder, since his vision was skewed with adrenaline, darkness, and fear. Then, a shattering pain shot up his left arm. Dislocating his arm, he heard a pop, the force of his descent being abruptly stopped by the wrenched fingers on the metal ladder. His body hung limply from the one hand holding on, his eyes shut and clenched in pain.

"Mr. Kiske! Sir, are you there?" he heard Jaygus' voice echo down to him. He tried to move his jaw to respond, but it seemed like it was resigned to stay clenched in pain. He heard another plea of reassurance that Atlas still existed, yet couldn't respond. _Come on Ky, you're not out of it yet._ He tried pulling himself up on his left arm, but fell back completely limp on the pain racing through his body from the shoulder. He reached across his body, slowly twisting, and each second more agonizing than the last, to get a hold with his right hand. His fingers pried in darkness, feeling along the cement and metal, the fingerless gloves not being the most flexible, though the hide of it had been worn in from everyday use and abuse. _There!_ He gripped around a rung of the ladder with his right hand, letting go with his left, falling down another few feet, weight now on his right arm. Pulling himself from the single limb, his feet found rungs as well, his left arm hanging limply.

"Yeah..." Ky yelled up, catching his breath, recuperating from the agonizing pain. "I'm here." he choked up. A sigh could be heard above of him, the exhaling wind throwing down to him, unfelt, yet a silent thanking. Holding on with his three limbs, he slowly arched his body out, then slammed his left shoulder against the cement next to the ladder, yelping in pain as the bone popped back into its socket. A few seconds of pain, almost to the point of letting go of the ladder and dropping, but he maintained a firm grip. Looking through glazed eyes, he saw the light filtering through the open door, and started to climb. The constant _clunk_ of the Fuuraiken on his hip against the metal with each step was both ghastly yet reaffirming and provided a security to Kiske as he slowly, and solely climbed. Within a minute, he was back to the Floor E entrance, scanning the eyes of all of the soldiers looking back at him. He wiped his eyes previously, not to show that emotion to them. He nodded slowly, then continued up, an unwritten law and good luck token to him and from the soldiers. He was doing what he had to be doing, the thing required by a leader and a man of bravery, showing that to his men.

Coming to the Floor F opening, he saw a small slit of light pass between the two closed shutters, a bit cluttered and playing tricks across the chasm to the far wall, the small slice of light being blotted out and then reappearing and what not, by shadows and dust. Kiske knew there were no Gears behind the door, he could not hear, smell, or see them, especially since the shadow wasn't entirely blotted out, but he still had fear. Like a child keeping one eye open at night to the closet, he didn't want to see what was behind it, but needed to, nagging at him, and that it was his mission, his ultimate goal. There was a small lip of the floor that extended an inch beyond the doors into the shaft, but not enough for Ky to jump to. _One thing left, do it Kiske._ Hanging on with his right arm, he slowly removed the Fuuraiken with his left. He was right handed, but the shaft was behind and to the left of him anyway, about six feet back, one foot in. He had to blow out the doors, burn through them, anything. Bringing the sword above his head, he took a deep breath in, focusing, getting his mind in order. The sword started to glow a dull blue, the user refining himself for the attack. The Fuuraiken would have reacted either way from the slash and the user holding it, but the enhanced determination also gave it an extra oomph, a side effect that Frederick hadn't considered when constructing them, but ended up being a good little bonus.

He brought it down in one fast slice, a small crescent left in the wake of the slash that moved slowly outward, the ends falling down into the center, getting faster the more compact it got, until it was a small crescent, pointed at the top and all of the lightning trailing behind it like a comet, trying to catch up, surging around and through to the top. It pounded into the door with no effect, the blue illumination seeping into it like it completely floated through. Ky was baffled, how could this happen? A small twitch of electricity jumped on the panel, across each side, then it was all dark again. A low sizzle rumbled through the corridor, echoing down and about, filling every crevice with the wave of sound, progressively getting louder, then showing itself. Small sparks emitted around the edges of the elevator shaft, starting from the point of impact, then running the length until they met back in the center.

"Damnit..." Kiske mumbled. He himself didn't naturally curse, he was most opposed, and that the Bible condemned those who spoke foul words in contempt. But, in certain conditions, under all of the weight of the world, and exhausted, he let himself slip, a secondary Ky hiding inside coming out. He himself knew it was there, an inflamed Id waiting to supercede his Ego, do duel with each other for reigning superiority in the psyche of Ky Kiske, but he never let himself go too far, never letting that dark self come to fruition, though he broke the surface every so often.

The sides of the elevator touching cement melted themselves, pooling onto the ground, then hardening, the intense heat and electricity not having another conductor, and simply welding itself to the ground. _Come on Kiske, now what? Darton...but can I trust it? I have to..._ He slowly climbed down the ladder, evaluating what he should say and do for the help of the one he disliked. His eyes were mindlessly looking down at his feet, which went rung lower and rung lower, deep in thought, until his feet were basked in golden light and his body being dipped in with every step down. He pivoted his head out to the four looking in on him, and focused on Quint, the light filtering around him, making Ky squint.

"Darton, I need that," he said without emotion, very coolly and professionally, a bit of fear lingering under his voice, though concealed.

"Oh really?" Darton said, motioning to the sword he held lackadaisically in his right hand, hanging the edge over his shoulder. "How do I know you'll say its property of the Seikishidan and not give it back?"

"Either I use it, or we don't get out of here. You'll get it back." Kiske said, his sentence trailing off slowly, the echoes making a more profound reminder in Quint's silence to think. "In plus..." Ky whispered "You owe me." he said with a smirk, referring to yesterday when Quint took a hold of the Fuuraiken. Darton looked to the side, making a _tsk_ sound, thinking, then looked back at Kiske, realizing that he really had no choice. He flipped it around, holding it by the blade, extending the grip to Ky in the elevator shaft. He leaned around the corner, palm on the outside of Floor E, so if he was falling inward, he'd just push backward, and the other soldiers also would have helped him, if he needed it. He stretched further, one leg coming off of the ground, his toes his only connection to the ground. Ky reached out with his left hand, Fuuraiken in sheath now, grabbing the grip slightly. It fell in his weak hands, clanging against the ladder below him, only his index and thumb around it. He gasped, looking back at Quint who was equally startled, then Kiske slowly wrapped more of his fingers around the odd blade until he had full control. "Thanks..." he muttered, and then ascended into the darkness.

A set of slow, monotonous _clang clang clang_'s on the ladder, and Kiske was now where he was previously, looking at the now deformed door. _I hope this thing has some massive power behind it...well, it should, considering where it came from._ He brought it above his head, like he had before, and swung it downward, the same motion he had done with the Fuuraiken. His arm rested by his side, the slash completed, waiting for something. Nothing happened, silence filled the corridor, held breaths of those listening intently below. He opened his mouth to question what was going wrong, to himself or down to Quint, when the air from his lungs was sucked out of him. He was jerked slightly, hanging firm on the ladder, all of the air around him being vacuumed to where he slashed and propelled forward, like an invisible battering ram. The doors caved inward at the seam, bending inward in a circular fashion, the metal screaming as it was beaten upon. The torrent ended as quick as it had began, and the air sat stale and still, seeping back to where it had been sucked away, like nothing had happened. He swung again, bracing this time, and again, each time the metal giving more leeway, surrendering more of itself to the overpowering enigmatic sword.

Ky breathed heavily, the lack of air coupled with the furious swings, admiring his handiwork. The left door lie about five feet from the elevator shaft opening, the right bent upward from the bottom, crushed on the side, and crumpled in places.

"It worked!" Kiske shouted below euphorically. Tossing Quint's sword onto the base of Floor F, Ky jumped next, missing with his feet, but his hands finding a firm grasp upon the inch extending into the shaft. Pulling himself up and out, he stood up slowly upon Floor F, a proud air floating off of him, almost completely vindicating the pain of the gash on his back. He had done it, he was up. Glancing around, he picked up the sword, and then went to the railing, where four heads looked up at him. He gave a genuine smile of accomplishment and happiness, Jaygus nodding in confirmation, whispering "Good job, sir". Ky walked away from the railing, into the nearest dorm, F-134. Stepping in slowly, the light filtering behind him, he quickly got to work, bashing off the small padlocks on the Seikishidan issue lockers. Rifling through garments and tossing a few aside, he came up with a few extra Seikishidan issue garments, bringing them out into the hall.

**Every part of the Seikishidan uniform was useful and helpful. They made it so that if you needed to survive, you had enough. I said before a standard issue Seikishidan sword could, under right circumstances and uses, conduct enough magic to start a fire, though the old methods with stick-and-brush was still learned. The suit was made of Nomex, a material that was basically a burned cloth that was rewoven into their uniforms and would never catch fire. It could burn, but the wearer would never be engulfed in flame. Also, it was interwoven with a small metal wiring, for added protection (very little), and strength. The uniform could be made into a shelter, the pants used to dry and cook food, and many more uses. Entire manuals were devoted to learning things to use the uniform for in cases of emergencies, and it was meticulously planned out, every piece and garment, while upholding the monk look.**

Stringing together the few shirts, suit tops, pants and garbs, he made a rope. They wouldn't rip, unless they were in excess of three hundred pounds of weight on them. And, each tied into each other gave more weight allowance and extra tension to hold it together. Throwing the end down to Floor E, he tied the other end to the railing of Floor F. Immediately, they each climbed, one at a time to the top, where Kiske helped them up and over. **Skip ahead a little...**

They all found footing on the ground, looking around at the elusive Floor F, even Quint. Ky helped the last soldier up, with the added support of Jaygus and the lieutenant. Quint took a few steps toward the sky light in the distance, taking in every thing he saw through his jaded brown eyes. He turned around, hearing the plunk of the private on the floor, thanking the soldiers around him. Ky dusted himself off, talking a little with the other soldiers friendly, yet with an exuberant air of accomplishment that something finally went right. Darton approached him, his hand out, palm up, looking square at Kiske. Knowing what he meant, Kiske slowly nodded his head to the side, his euphoric demeanor suddenly being shattered by Quint, not surprisingly.

Picking up the sword from its lying position on the wall, he sheathed it through his belt, the awkward design fitting no sheath. He rested it between his belt and hip, blade exposed, but not in any danger to him, as long as he didn't fall on his side with it sheathed, or it'd go through his leg. The shape of it, a standard Seikishidan grip and hilt, the white re-enforced plexiglass hilt, egg shaped, the grip one solid piece that came up into a U shape, hooking into a big circular oval in the center, same as the Fuuraiken and all of the other standard issue sword. The metal folded around the center egg, welded into the handle and egg, which was also interlocked with steel bolts, welded to each other again. The blade seemed to melt out of the white standard, slowly turning to a shiny steel from the white as the length of the blade reached out. On one side, it was blunt, about three-quarters inches thick, a blunt battering side. The opposite one looked like a monster had taken three big bites out of it, the three small arcs in the sword giving it a somewhat serrated edge. Each one progressively arced backward more, until the third arc touched the back end, forming a stabbing point.

"Let's get going, Kiske." Darton said, taking his first few steps while finishing slipping his sword into his belt. He was breaking up the short moment of deserved praise between the soldiers to Ky, whose expression changed back to a dazed stare forward from his slight grin previously, his childish self being exposed, and now just canned back up and thrown into storage, among hundreds of cans, waiting to be found. Looking at the three around him, he nodded, and took his few steps forward, following Quint. About an hour later of slow, plodding walking, covering only about a mile in an hour, they found themselves standing before the mangled skylight.

"It's so close..." Kiske said, leaning over the railing, looking closer, the drops of dew slowly falling from one of the beams that had been bent , water pooling in its flat surface and trickling off.

"But we still can't get to the bitch." Quint re-affirmed. "So...how?" he asked, not exactly as derivative or violent at Ky as he usually was, mainly since if they couldn't find a way out, none of them were getting out, and he wanted to be rid of this place, put it behind him.

"Hmm...I found those supplies in some dorms." Ky said, nodding back the way they came, the rope made of garments. "Maybe we can find more."

"Good idea, I'll go search." Jaygus said, almost seeming anxious to leave. The other two soldiers affirmed that notion, heading off to scour through some dorm rooms, leaving Kiske and Darton alone, looking at the sky light, leaning on the railing.

"You're not going?" Darton said amused.

"No...I want to think," he said slowly, pushing off of the railing, walking to the wall and putting his back to it. He stood, his eyes glazed and deep in thought, then slowly slid down to a sit. Quint swiveled his head and turned his body to watch him the entire time, that amused, nonchalant look on his face.

"Darton..." he said slowly, looking up at him, a few seconds between his response, Quint looking at him with muffled interest. "Do you know what the deal is with that sword of yours?" he asked slowly, methodically.

"Nope. I just mistakenly picked this sucker up. When I ran into the warehouse, I knocked myself into a crate, broke the wood bitch, couldn't see, picked up what I thought was the Gear sword I was using, and found out I had something else when I got dirty with a few of them."

"There's a reason it was there, you do not deserve to have it." Kiske said in the same tone as before, condescending and informative.

"Oh, is that so? Is there anything I am worthy of in your damn opinion? I don't want to hear your shit of why you don't like me, because trust me, it's mutual."

"Besides that, there is another reason." Kiske said with a smirk, bypassing the part of how he is unworthy of such a weapon from an organization of God, which he has disgraced and abandoned.

"And what's that, Kiske?" he said, a feigned interest lined with malice.

"It was put into that warehouse in 2173, along with the rest of them. They were special swords, used by the highest-ranking sergeants. It wasn't who; it was a matter of resources. However many we had, they went to the highest tier, and if left over, randomly selected from the next level lower tier of sergeants, and so on. They were an experiment"

"I could tell that much, considering the whole tornado crap going on with it."

"Let me finish" he said with an edge, a quick decisive stab with his tongue. "As I was saying, they were sealed away. They were created from the same blueprints that Frederick manufactured, the U.N. using a bi-partisan manufacturer, hand made, by two different sets of people, one going to be used, the other rejected. They were built, with a few adverse effects. What they controlled was completely up in the air, figuratively speaking, considering the men who made them had no idea how Frederick harnessed specific things to each weapon. The weapon that the U.N. picked to be the prototype one only won because the former one, made by the separate team of men, ended up killing themselves while trying to harness and infuse magic to the swords, unsure of Frederick's blueprints as well. The swords, when put into use with the first few batch of sergeants, killed all of them. A few would wear the user down until he died, sucking the life from him. Others backfired, unleashing unwanted things upon everything near. One of them even imploded on itself, the metal bending in on itself, user taken with it. A few were total failures, just average swords of steel, none of the properties of the Frederick designs. That was one of them." Kiske said nodding to the weapon hanging from the lazy fingers of Darton, who was looking straight at Kiske with an interested smug smile on his face, both of his elbows resting behind him on the railing.

"So, you're saying I'll get killed by it, eh?"

"I didn't say that. Some of them worked, but they just couldn't be relied on. Also, the U.N. didn't want to reproduce the Fuuraiken and Fuurenken, since they were the Seikishidan keep sakes, as well that they simply could not, all of the things needed for them and one with enough knowledge of their true natures didn't exist. These, the original swords, weren't made by the U.N., despite what they say." Ky had grabbed Quint's attention for real this time. "The U.N. claims they made them, to ease the publics ideas, but they _found _them. Frederick made them before he died, the U.N. recovered them sometime after the incident where he disappeared, as well as the blue prints, like Santa Clause dropped a present for them. They locked them up for years and years, until they gave them to the Seikishidan, spouting the lie about they made them from the blueprints. If the failure of that streak of weapon" Ky nodding to Darton's "tells you anything, it's that we don't know enough about magic, yet. And, we probably never will, because of the damned beasts things that come of it...".

"Back onto the point though" Ky said, his tone changing back to being flat, his voice inching up in emotion and anger previously. "That must have been one of the working swords, I guess. Either that, or you'll die soon, for some odd reason. The life sucked from you, extreme exhaustion, spontaneous combustion, whatever. But, that one seems clear it is a functioning one, it stood the test of time and use. I was hesitant to use it earlier, thinking it might backfire on me, but after using it, I think that it is indeed a working one. Lucky that you picked up the right one in the darkness."

"Could God have wanted me to?" Quint asked, a bit of a backward insult upon Ky.

"...Possibly. That's classified information though, that weapon doesn't technically exist." Ky conceded, not liking how Darton cornered him. He looked away, seeing the soldiers walking out of dorms, finding a new one, arms full of items they dropped in the hall to pick up on their next journey. Kiske looked back at Darton again then, Darton's glance now focusing on what Ky was. An awkward silence sat between the two, not making eye contact. A few minutes passed, the echoes of footsteps and chatter between the private and lieutenant floating to both of their ears, before finally their own voices were heard.

"Hey Kiske, how does it feel?" Darton asked slowly, whispering almost.

"What do you mean?" he asked, slightly off guard for the question.

"Being the leader, taking all the shit from everybody, having to do the right thing all the time. How does it feel?" Darton asked, trying to conceal he was actually asking Ky something not in vehement settings or in argument, but personally.

"I...I...don't know how to answer that." Ky stammered, a bit confused as to why Darton would ask that of anything. "Why?" Darton suddenly seemed offended, shifting his weight off of his right leg and to his left.

"Well, I don't like extended silences. Trying to start a conversation, jeez. Screw that then, Kiske. I'm going to go find some food, someone probably stashed some in a locker." he said, a disgust in his voice. Kiske instantly knew that he had the chance to establish some trust, some middle ground, friendship, in the least, with Darton, and he blew it. The genuinity behind Darton's sentiment was looked upon too cynically, and it blew up in his own face.

"It's heavy" Ky said flatly, but loud enough so that Darton would hear it over his echoing footsteps. He stopped suddenly, another awkward silence for a moment before he turned around to face Ky, who was still sitting against the wall.

"It's heavy?" he asked, confused a little.

"Yeah, like I have to hold the world all on my back, and if I do one thing wrong..." he sighed, then continuing "the world would topple off of my shoulders, and everyone would die, it would be over and dead. I would be held accountable for all of those people, the survival of mankind, and no one, not even God would forgive me, and if He did, I couldn't accept it. It's heavy..." he finally said, his boyish side shining through. He was only sixteen, yet he had so much to do and live up to, it was only natural that he was uneasy about it all.

Darton stood for a second, digesting what Kiske said. Then, he shot Kiske a smirk, a small one out of the side of his mouth, turned and continued walking, turning into the nearest dorm room, the sounds of lockers opening reaching out to Kiske. He took a deep sigh, sitting against the wall, and leaned his head back, his blonde hair falling flat over his face, eyelids concealing the oceanic eyes he had acquired from his unknown parents. He had salvaged what he could from Quint, somehow he had, and it felt somewhat good. He smiled at Ky, he gave him recognition, more than the edged pursuit of each other's patience until one cracked, it was somehow...nice.

**_-X- Author's Notes –X-_**  
- Zeronova's Notes:  
- I like this chapter, I enjoyed writing it. Not only does it give some interesting back-story, I feel I developed both Quint and Ky more, as well as leading up to the big bang of Arc I. Stay tuned, next chapter, we're in for a doozy. A little bit of a side note, but every time I write a chapter, I listen to the entire Yellowcard - Ocean Avenue CD, sometimes twice. It flows, helps me write better. Another tid-bit, I wrote this July 23rd, and Chapter 12 on July 22nd, and Chapter 11 on July 19th. Ahead of schedule. ) Oh yes, I am doing some MS Paint masterpieces of the Seikishidan H.Q., the sword, etc., if my descriptions confuse you (I confuse myself sometimes...). I will post them as I complete them, so stay tuned.  
**_-X- End Author's Notes –X-_**


	14. Arc 1: I see you

**_-X- Introduction -X-_**_  
- Desolate Gail__ Redux_  
_ - Started on: 5-17-2004 / Posted on: 8-16-2004 / Checked on: 3-14-2005  
- By: Zeronova  
- Chapter 14: I see you_

_- _Text: Third person, Narration  
- _Text_: First person, Thoughts  
- **Text**: Interjection, the Narrator****

**_X- End Introduction -X-_**

**I need to have a hearty talk with you, my reader. I haven't, in the past two chapters, given you a piece of my mind, but I think now is a very pivotal time. Especially considering the recent developments in my morbid tale. But, despite the five survivors and their plight, there is more to be said and done, along the lines of who I am and why I tell this story, not anyone else through any other way at any other time. I tell the story because in a world such as this, I am privileged to be allowed to know how to write fluidly, and commit these events to novellization, something far too discarded nowadays. How many books are published, how many movies made, how much music? The answer is none. Absolutely none. The war makes it so no one can, no one dares too. If you have time to write, time to direct and act, time to sing, you don't deserve to be a human. You need to fight for survival, help continue humanity, make sure that we are preserved. Now, you might ask, what about the women? Women raise families to fathers who have either not signed up for the Seikishidan, a very looked down upon action, or ones who have survived their tour of duty, spanning fifteen years, and then every year from then on is a compensated year. The first fifteen do not pay, they simply are considered service years, since the Seikishidan provides everything. Past fifteen, the soldier is considered a veteran, a true soldier, and is compensated in the form of World Dollars, an advent of the U.N. The pay isn't much, but if you stay in for maybe four, five years more, never spending a cent since you don't need to, well, that's a lofty sum.**

**You might ask, who would risk their lives, signing up, and then serving past fifteen years? Jaygus is a prime example. His service, started at sixteen like Kiske, and works on compensation, not to mention that his personal history is a bit...varied, something I am not going to tell at this point. It's major in his character, I think you as readers should be tortured to know all the nuances about the characters, the why and the how, especially a few other mysteries. Makes me writing this, and you reading it, more fun. I may be this world's only encyclopedic writer of these events, but at least I'll make it a lot easier to read than a real encyclopedia (Extremely rare, most destroyed, except for those in the U.N. vaults, heavily guarded and censored as well, which I have heard catalog history and things, yet do it in the most unapproachable way).**

**Anyway, back to my initial sentiment. Who I am...well, you know that I knew Darton, and Kiske, I met them, talked to them, and I also know a bit more than I should about a few things. I went to a library in Italy, grabbed three books, those were highly influential to me. But, you don't know my gender, my age, my name...and I will not tell. At the end of this tale, you should know who I am, but I will not say. I am a person living in this world, torn and battered, trying to just find my way, and found that between the two I knew, and this war, the events that have happened and will happen in the future chapters, could not go without documentation. To whom I write this...I don't know. No one reads books nowadays, and no one would read what they know happened. Maybe I write this for people decades and centuries from now, to look back and say "The Crusades against the Gears...there was one novel, that told what happened, the truth, sort of. It may not be the best, but is all we got." Maybe that's my goal, to do what no one else will do and do it with my own style, since who is to defy my word, if no one else says it isn't true? Oh wait, I sound like someone a Seikishidan officer should know. When God told Paul the history of man, for him to write God's word in the Bible. Could Paul have lied, changed certain events? Maybe eschewed some of the facts, made up parts, left others out? Did God really tell Paul to write those things, or would he be considered the best novelist of all time, since his book is still being read 2200 years from its inscription? Maybe in a thousand years, they will decipher God from my writings, change what I say from being an objective viewpoint on the war, how God factored in, and make it a Newer Testament? The Old, the New, and the Newer Testament. Make it a nice trilogy of books, a fulfilling afternoon read.**

**Though, I hope it is viewed as a novel, not as a gospel. And, that is where you, my reader comes in. Take this tale as something to be read with an open mind. I know that in times like now, either you believe in God whole heartedly, and then there are those who do not. Those with extreme faith outnumber those without, since the belief and faith keeps them going in a world with nothing else, and by that token, I should be religious, yet I am not. I take God with skepticism, I acknowledge He is there, I like the guy, He's not too bad, but I don't think that He is as cracked up as He is said to be. I mean, hundred year war, against His people, no help? True, God let Jesus die, God let atrocities at Goelbthe, He let heathens believe the wrong things without changing them, He let the Holocaust happen, He even made Hell...how could He just sit there while we, his people, are annihilated?**

**But, back to Hell. He threw Lucifer from Heaven, right? Cast him out, and then made Hell for him to stay in for his malicious actions, correct? And, they say God has foresight, He knows everything, what you think, what you will do, what you will be, how you will die, whom you were born from, whom you kill, whom you save. So, He knew Lucifer would betray him, He knew He would make Hell, He knew all of it, yet He made it. Did He do it so He would have an excuse to throw all of the human souls years and years after those events? Or, did it slip past His omnipotent vision? Did the Gears somehow edge off of his radar, the Crusades? For those who die, does He automatically say "This soul dies at four years because of a Gear raid" or "This soldier lives to be 67 and die of old age"? If so, what's the point of living, despite running your pre-destined track? Does God want you to think you have control, and then let you do whatever it is you think your decision is? Does He know that a person will hate Him, yet makes him anyway? How could He make those decisions, make souls He decides will go to Hell before occupying a body? It just completely rakes my brain to think of how He makes those decisions, how He could be able to, or that we, as humans, manifested Hell, a God, a Heaven, and all of these things to reassure ourselves in troubled times. I wouldn't doubt it, since I've no proof God does or doesn't exist. I mean, why else would He let…can't say, give up plot, but you'll know what I mean by the time I end my story. You'll know. But, back to God, how? Simply, how? Who gave Him that power anyway? He was the first, so did He see it and claim it off of the shelf? I could be God, and take up sword, and kill some random person. But, was I destined to kill him then, despite that I did it out of desperation or not? It really makes me think, and I hope you do too. And, if you read this, they didn't cut it out, and if you don't, well, take a guess. Enough of my rambling, we have a story to get back to.**

"Well, these are my finds, sir." Jaygus said, walking up with arms full of items. He dropped them next to the sitting commander, who looked up with inquisitive eyes, knocked from a daydream and most likely, praying. Darton would have accused him of dozing off, if he were there to do so. The items dropped with a soft _thud_, the morning passing slowly and briskly above, though lingering, not past ten o'clock. Small purple clouds, the vaporizing sunrise fleeting its way from them could be seen out from Kiske's slight angle of the sky, small blades of grass growing around the dome falling inside of the hole, as well as blocking his view of the sky, though it only made it more of a testament to God's creative beauties. Standing up slowly, stretching out his aching and exhausted limbs, he took a second to let his blood flow freely again, his right leg a little stiff, and his back bothering him, considering he had a giant slash across his shoulder blades. He arched his shoulders back for a stretch, and winced forward. Some things he could and couldn't do, that being a couldn't.

He knelt down at the items, sifting through with one hand, Jaygus watching to see if Kiske approved. His hand threw aside clothes, personal trinkets, one Bible that had been wrapped up in a shirt, and a few other things. Not much to work with, but he could only blame himself. The strict Seikishidan laws prohibited taking things from any places of the Seikishidan for personal use outside of its designated areas, except for food, which wasn't to be stashed anyway. Extra clothes were about the only thing that they were allowed to have, since they were issued only one sword, one pair of gauntlets, one pair of boots, and everything else non-clothes related. For clothes, they had on average three sets of uniforms, but they could get more by going to the laundry room on Floor B, which didn't require anyone to give name or identification, just get what you need, and get out. Technically, a soldier could get upward of twenty shirts, if he needed, but then others would notice, as well as he would, and should, be embarrassed by such a thing.

The other two soldiers appeared with likewise garments in hand, not much besides clothes, Bibles, and the occasional personal ornament, ranging from pictures of family, necklaces, heirlooms, and the like. Kiske equally sifted through them to no avail. _Come on, there's nothing here. We can't make a rope out of clothes enough to get out of here, much less would it be practical. We need something else, someway out of here, but I cannot tell them that, it'd break morale; it'd destroy what leadership I have. Think of something, think of it quick. _Before Ky had adequate time to say something to their inquirious faces and gazes, he heard a voice behind him.

"I think I found something." a voice beckoned from behind. Kiske turned to face it, and saw Darton standing firm, content in himself. Ky's expression signaled he wanted to know, but to Quint's silence it was nothing. Finally, Atlas stood up and walked over to him, his stature easily asking the question what. A slight smirk spread across Darton's face, having the almighty king among men walk towards him before showing his treasures. "Here." he said, outstretching a previously closed fist, to show the find.

"...What is this?" he asked, sifting through with one finger, the other palm holding it.

"Seems we got a pack rat," Darton said, nodding to a room behind him. "That's the most of it. Some food, a necklace, some old card with writing on it..." he said, picking out the piece of stiff paper, a picture on one side, the other writing sprawled across it. "Whatever it is, it seems his name was...Martin, and was 'dear'." he said smugly. Ky heard the plod of footsteps of the other three approaching, and as he did, he picked out the necklace among the items, and stuffed it into his pocket, looking at Darton with venomous eyes. His glance was returned with one of indulgence, seeing what Kiske did to seeing it. The footsteps behind stopped, and he could hear their breaths and smell them behind him. He turned abruptly, Darton holding his hand downward to drop the spoils into Kiske's own palm, hand now full with the small pieces of food.

"We split it among us." Ky said simply. Small pieces of beef jerky, an apple on the verge of being spoiled, and other small pieces. Ky looked over his shoulder to Darton, and nodded at him. Quint obliged, and walked over, each picking pieces out of Kiske's outstretched hand. Each had had very little to eat in the past day, and the constant fighting only drained their energy even more. Each bite was like salvation itself, and they enjoyed it more than they would have ever done to anything else. Even the rotten apple, which was taken a bite out of, and passed down, despite being bruised and brown, as well as a bit squishy and having the disgusting puss coursing through it on the fermentation side, was devoured, core and seed too. Within minutes, it was gone, and they all were still ravenous with hunger, the small morsel of food only putting their minds deeper on finding more. But, they had to get out of first, that was priority.

"We still need to find a way out, don't waste time because we just ate." Ky said, scanning each of their faces. "Let's move." They nodded, and went back to searching. The lieutenant took the first steps around to walking around to the opposite side of Floor F, see if anything was there. It only further reminded Kiske of what he was reading yesterday morning, a document on renovating the base to make three interconnecting walkways across each floor, at a quarter length each, so one didn't have to walk entirely around to get to the other side. It was too costly, would have taken too many supplies and time they couldn't spare, as well as being "a useless addition", he remembered he mumbled to himself. _Yeah, useless..._

He swiveled his head to find the nearest dorm, and instantly entered, standing in the darkness, his arm holding the door open as he scouted out for the lockers that should be in there. As he did, the light floating in seemed to be blotted out. Looking back to see what it was, he was pushed forward, balance almost lost. The door shut behind the person, Ky stumbling against a locker, and then standing up in no light to look at the assailant.

"Why?" the voice asked. Instantly, he knew the gruff voice, yet an underlying smugness about it, a sincerity held underneath yet covered over by dirt, not much grown into being a true voice to distinguish the man, but almost.

"Darton." Kiske spat out, like oil was in his mouth.

"Why did you take it?" he asked. "And then, hide it. Your back was to them when they walked up, only I know. I won't tell, but why?" he reiterated, a tepid anger in his voice, seeking answers.

"Because...because of something a long time ago."

"Bullshit." he said immediately.

"Listen, find some crap to get us out of here, and get out of my face." he said authoritatively, stepping forward in the darkness to Quint, knowing where he stood, and knowing Quint's eyes were about an inch above his, but still standing firm in front of him. He wasn't going to be made a fool of or told what to do, or answer what he didn't need to. "Get out," he said again. He heard a shuffle of feet, then saw Darton opening the door, and walking out slowly, his eyes over his shoulder, transfixed on Kiske.

Slowly, Ky stepped back from his imposing stature, sighing a little, leaning on a wall to gather himself. _Why did I take it...? I don't know...I saw it, I had to have it, no one else knows what it is like, how I should have it...what happened three years ago. Put it of mind, don't be nostalgic, you gotta get out of here. When you're sitting on that militia truck, riding to Bordeaux, you can think to yourself all you want. It's a nice long drive anyway, and you'll need a lot of medical attention too. You know how the A.A. are morons when it comes to doing their job, so you'll definitely be sitting there a while._ His hand reached into his lower pocket on the inside of the trench coat garb piece of the uniform, which went over the pants and shirt, but was then covered by the shoulder garment, and the shoulder piece buckled to the center piece, hanging down to his knees. His fingers toyed with it, the small necklace, the trinket rubbing into his calloused fingertips. As he did, his concentration was broken by a loud _screeekraaack_, booming through the empty halls of the Seikishidan.

Bolting out of the room, smashing the inward opening door into the wall as he threw it, his eyes scanned around for where the sound came from, the echo not helping. The other soldiers emerged from which dorms they were scouring, the noise equally perturbing them. They exchanged confused glances, the noise persistent. It was a mild pain to hear, like a saw cutting through stone, but it was bearable, unlike the nails-on-a-chalkboard hoarse gasps of Gears. Abruptly, the noise stopped, all silent, the lingering echo finding solace in death as well a few seconds later. They all held their breaths, unsure of to move or not, something that goes bump in the night transferred to day, and it didn't have a closet to be in.

"Sir!" a voice broke through their cold fear. Ky took a step forward, the voice not coming from any of the soldiers around him. "Sir! Up here!" His glance changed to a soldier kneeling above the rim of the skylight, looking in upon the headquarters from his raised position. "We got here as soon as we could! We're here to rescue you!" he screamed, ecstatic in being able to locate the commander so easily.

Ky sprinted to the sky light fixture, as close as he could get with it being in the middle of a gap.

"Where'd you come from?"

"Bordeaux base, sir!" he said_. Duh, Kiske. You were just thinking about it anyway_. The soldier gleamed happily, an equally young one, probably Kiske's own age. He could tell this story for years to come, that he talked to and helped Ky Kiske. "We're here with three platoons of soldiers, leading by Adam Gestahl under U.N. Security, sir! We've got three full trucks and supplies! The U.N. brought themselves here, with the A.A.'s!" The soldier seemed to spout the "good news" to Ky, unable to contain himself, wanting to prove to the commander he was worthy, a good soldier.

"Thank you, lieutenant" he said calmly. The soldier was startled for a moment, looking back down at his green private uniform, then beaming back at him. Ky nodded his head to the side, maintaining eye contact, the soldier trying to avoid it, but his eyes curious and wandering, seeing the eyes of Kiske looking back at him, then snapping elsewhere. The soldier understood, saluted, stood up, and ran off, his voice trailing to the obvious other soldiers waiting around to ready up the insertion team to get them out. **Seikishidan protocol, never look a commander in the eyes. It's disrespectful, that you should never see eye-to-eye as a commanding officer. Darton obviously broke the code, and Jaygus had as well, though the way that Jaygus had done it had been somehow...subtle, gentle, in a way that made it seem okay. Anyway...**

Ky looked back at Jaygus, the private, then over at the other side of Floor F where the lieutenant had emerged from his dorm, and flashed a smile. _We're saved, we're good. We'll live. I did it...I lead them to salvation. Like Moses to the Jews out of Egypt...I have led them home. Wait..._ A slow creak echoed through the Seikishidan, bouncing off of the walls eerily, unnaturally. It came from inside, not above like the abrupt intrusion before. Then, he saw it. His vision was a perfect twenty-twenty, as it needed to be in his position, but what he saw was more mentally, he didn't need a crystal quality image to know what he saw about a mile off.

The doors to the elevator were being slowly pried open, fingers crawling through the open spots, bending back the metal like paper, it crying in weakness to a mother who would not save it. One of the shafts with the single door remaining had figures already pouring out slowly, the second door ripped from its hinges. _And when Moses got to Israel...God didn't let him in, he died on top of Mount Sinai, looking over the Promised Land, only to die..._ Ky felt instantly cold, innerved, and small. Insignificant in the world, a tiny piece, no longer holding it up, but just a man living on the world. He shook it away, he couldn't have those feelings now, it wasn't right, wasn't time.

The lieutenant across the hall looked back at Kiske with an instant sense of urgency, a scared plight running rampant across his emotions. He looked Ky dead in the eyes, blinking a few times, then standing straight up, taking a breath in. He nodded at Ky, looking him in the eyes, then ran.

"No!" Ky gasped, jumping out, held back by the railing, his feeble attempt to stop the man who was forty-five feet away in vain. The lieutenant grasped his sword tight, and continued to run further back the way he came, around the bend in Floor F, to the elevators. It was over quick, the Gears flooding out of the doors surrounded and impaled him, his body being flung over the railing, two swords sticking through his chest. That image would be forever imprinted on Ky's brain. _...He just died, sacrificed himself, knowing he'd be dead. They killed him, threw him off, and he did it for...me...he just made up his mind, a split second decision, and did it, died, for me..._ Ky was taken aback for a second, the realization of war and death slowly catching up with him, his nerves of steel slowly tarnishing, only being silver plated, the true colors underneath shining, and not gloriously. He swallowed a dry breath, his throat parched, but his psyche fracturing. He taped it back together, shaking himself out of it. _Snap out of it, you gotta live, and fight. Don't die, you can't, not yet._

Hurry the hell up!" he yelled up at the sky light, his voice traveling unknown lengths, hoping to God the soldiers outside heard it._ There again with the cursing...it's really damn appropriate right now. Shut up._ He slowly took out the Fuuraiken, holding it tight in his hands, looking at the Gears that seemed to flow out of the broken elevator shaft, lining up along the semi-circle that linked both sides of Floor F. He glanced back to Jaygus, who in turn took out his sword, nodding sullenly to his leader. Quint also, to his right, unsheathed his own sword, a look of contempt for Ky, but washing it back for a more common enemy. He took a few steps to his right, in the direction of the Gears, the private and Jaygus following behind him. He walked next to Darton, and then passed him, without even moving his eyes, keeping his look straight on the Gears that amassed about a mile away. They all walked behind him, swords in their hands, each deep in thought as to what they needed to do, as to what they could do.

"God is with us. He is in every breath we take, every step we make. Use this and do not look back, He gives you strength, He protects you." Ky said, words solemn and unrelenting. "God gave David the strength to overcome the odds and enemy at hand, for his will and might will give those who believe in Him ultimate strength. We will not die, not this day. We shall survive and persist. God as our ally, God as our leader..." Ky said, the words flowing from him evangelically. Each step replaced the last, in a rhythmic fashion, walking to his fate, Jesus over his shoulder. He couldn't die, he wouldn't, not now. Not with God behind him, not with the weight of the world on his shoulders...not without...

Ky reached into his pocket slowly, bringing out the necklace. Putting the Fuuraiken under one arm as he walked, he slowly clipped it on his neck, the golden chain fitting around the collar of his uniform, dangling across his chest, the small gold cross lying on his sternum. Grabbing the Fuuraiken again, he heard the footsteps of those behind him. Another unsheathing echoed past him. Darton slowly took out his knife, holding it in his left hand, his right hand holding the mistake sword. Jaygus behind him, and the private the fourth one. The Gears, all of them finally stepping out of the shaft they climbed up out of, stood still, looking at their enemy approaching slowly. They totaled about fifty, the remaining force of Gears left. It was the humanoid type of Gear, the ones they left in the warehouse. Obviously, they used raw power to climb to the Floor F, but it worked. The large, haggard bodies, bone exposed, muscle falling off of bone, disgusting red eyes rolling in their sockets, exposed organs, skin boiled and burned, pruned, infected, and missing altogether. They hunched over themselves like apes, each breath stooping their bodies to one side, then back down with exhale, mouths open, cheeks holed and disgusting, cut out tongues and grotesque ones hanging from where ever it allowed. They filed all out in front, filling every space available to meet Ky, taking precautious steps, walking forward in a constant pace.

Ky stopped about a hundred feet from the oncoming Gears, the three soldier behind him filing out to the sides of him, facing the oncoming Gears. They kept their solemn walk, husking in each breath, most holding crude weapons, pieces of rock, or their own bone being weapons. A few were hunched over, walking on all fours, an elongated mouth with a graveyard of razor teeth beckoning to tear through the flesh of Kiske. About twenty feet from Ky, they stopped, filing out in line like the humans had, the ranks of the rest behind. They were going to swarm him, all of them at once, an oncoming wave in a confined space, but they stopped abruptly, like a stand off. Their eyes rolled, accepting orders, looking at them all, assessing, thinking.

"God is with us, do not forget." Ky whispered again, his voice low and stern. He slowly slid his left foot out, holding the Fuuraiken above his head with his right hand, his left hand extending out, fingers pointing at the Gears. The other three equally took ready for battle. Quint held the mistake sword in his right hand, out in front of him, the blade arched to his left shoulder slightly, the knife in close to his body, scrunched for a quick stab. Jaygus took his standard issue Seikishidan sword, worn with dents and small cracks, filled pieces of metal in cracks from battles past, and Gears killed on his sword, bringing the weapon to his left hand, both gripping it tightly, then out in front of him, angled outward and at the ceiling. The private took the standard taught Seikishidan battle stance, holding the sword back with both hands, tip at the enemy, across your shoulders, body turned, eyes focused down the length of the blade and aimed at the enemy. On first attack, stab the blade out for a ranged attack, but bring it back quick for counter-ups. Standard procedure. Ky's left hand, extended turned upward, the fingers slowly twitching, teasing the Gears to come forward, beckoning for them, as if to say "Come here". They didn't budge, haggardly sitting tight by orders.

* * *

_Ky Kiske, big commander. Hello, I see you now, face to face in battle, not in that elevator. I see you now. You're quite a handsome man. Blonde hair down to your nose, blue eyes, fit, you must have made the girls go wild. Shame you won't be able to after this, you filth. I will remember this moment, commit it to memory, I do believe this will be worth it, and when I do my collection on humanity, I will make sure to recollect this moment, the beginning of the end of humanity. Here is where it ended for you and your kind. What's that? You're telling me to attack first? I see you looking at the Gear, you're looking through it, at me. Well, I see you, Blue eyes, I see you. Hold position until he attacks. What do you have to say to that? God is not on your side, human. He will never be, He is dead. I will be the new God, those to worship and pray upon. You are a symbol for your people, standing there, worshipping God and spouting His name for your own personal ambition. He is not with you, He never has been. You are deceived, and you will die. Ha, I see that. You're starting to run, you want to attack me first now? Is that so... Let him strike one down, then attack, kill him, rip him limb from limb, but let him have one. Oh, the one you were looking at, looking at me. Each step, I see it coming for me, each of your awkward paces at me, so human. They're uneven, off balance, not mathematically correct or physically a perfect use of yourself, not efficient. Another show of why you, as a human, need to be killed. Here, I see you now in front of me, raising that sword up...the sword of Frederick. Well, not literally, since I know where that one is. What is that? It's sparkling, each step it jiggles across...a small sparkle, a twinkle. Oh, I see. It's a cross, how elegant and suiting. Ah, the blue glow, the electricity, vitals are fading, you killed the one Gear, now kill him. Attack, now._

The last fading images from the Gear before the connection was terminated to Justice, it was lying on its back, dying, eyes staring up lifelessly, the sparkling gold crucifix the centerpiece of the image. _God is on your side...ha._

**_-X- Author's Notes –X-_**  
- Zeronova's Notes:  
- This was written July 24th, just thought I'd let you know. I've been very productive. Well, we set up the final Seikishidan H.Q. fight. This is an important time for me, it is the end of Arc I, where I transition into where I faded away from the original Desolate Gail. It leaves me feeling somewhat empty, thinking "Can I finish it now, knowing where I am?", and at the same time, proud I have come this far. I will finish it, I promise. And, as I said before, end of Arc I, there are three Arcs, for those wondering. Also, I dropped in Gestahl. I really love the dramatic flair this chapter had, them all lining up to each other, the cross, the narrator's talk about God, and how Ky/Justice talk/think about it. I hope you liked it as much as I did. Anyway, next Monday, next chapter, the beginning of the fight for the Seikishidan Headquarters!  
**_-X- End Author's Notes –X-_**


	15. Arc 1: Floor F

**_-X- Introduction -X-_**_  
- Desolate Gail__ Redux_  
_ - Started on: 5-17-2004 / Posted on: 8-23-2004 / Checked on: 3-15-2005  
- By: Zeronova  
- Chapter 15: Floor F_

_- _Text: Third person, Narration  
- _Text_: First person, Thoughts  
- **Text**: Interjection, the Narrator****

**_X- End Introduction -X-_**

With his first few steps forward, he lifted up the Thunderseal, sparking with life and anticipation, the bolts aching to find the flesh of its destined enemy, sear through what the weapon was built to kill, what the properties of it, manufactured and built for, to be used for. He swung the sword downward and diagonally, his feet sliding to a stop as his forward momentum propelled him past where he dug his worn boots into the ground. The Gears stood entirely still as he ran, even the one who had been cut down. The blade exited its hip, globs of blood boiling off of the sword as it came back up into a fighting stance from Kiske. The body fell in two pieces, slashes across its chest, through the entire body. The eyes kept their lock on Kiske, even when it was lying on the ground next to its lower extremities. His eyes shot back and forth to the other Gears, who stood lifeless, watching him. The Gear whom he had cut down kept its eyes transfixed upon him, then slowly, the red glow faded from them, the eyes rolling back into the skull, and the body falling limp. As soon as the action was complete, the Gears surged to life, like a wave passing over each of them in turn, their heads jumping up with orders and life, growling, and then starting to move.

Kiske took no time to think, and instantly slashed to his left, then to his right, his eyes partly closed, just throwing the sword wherever he could, each slash jiggling the sword in his unsure hands as it tore through Gear flesh. The billowed cries of them, like nails on a chalkboard, he had been accustomed to, despite its rather unapproachable nature. He saw a Gear to his left step forward from the line, life in its eyes, raising up a long curved piece of metal, not much of a sword then a hammered piece of tin, the circular marks of the crude device used to straighten it, to a degree. The edge was rusted and chipped, sharp despite its unskilled and untrained sharpness, as contrary to Kiske's own.

It swung sharply downward after it had missed with the upward rise, Ky side stepping backward with his left foot, pivoting with his right as the edge of the sword smashed into the concrete, a few sparks shooting upward, the ground cracking in a surge, running along the length of the impact. It raised it again, dust and pebbles raised with it, and swung again, which found a lock in Ky's sword. The force of the blow threw him down to his knees, holding up his sword with his right hand on the grip, left holding the top edge of the blade. He was trying to hold it in his palm and push it up from there, but the Gear pressed harder with its lock, turning the sword slightly, the sharp edge falling into his hands. All of its body weight was now on the sword, Ky nearly on his back, holding the sword above him. He saw the other soldiers clash into the wall of Gears, fighting, but they were few in number. Another husky Gear breath was heard, not the one over him, but to his side. It had no weapon, only larger, bruised and knuckled to the bone fists. It stepped closer, the cracks from each step running and meeting Ky who kept the Gear on top of him at bay, as the other approached. _Shit Ky, think, come on, think! Do something! No God crap, you gotta act now! Jesus ain't gonna help! Shut up, think! Shut up! _His attention snapped back to the Gear on top of him, the sharp side of his own blade in his left hand slowly cutting into the soft flesh of his palm. He could see the Gear's hand emitting a fine smoke, though it seemed not to care, the fluctuating electricity off of his own blade conducting up to the Gear, who didn't care for the pain of his burning flesh, only the objective.

The second Gear was now a step away, its behemoth foot nearly inches from Ky's face, the cracks from it setting down on the ground running along the floor which Ky was nearly lying on, gambled his own balance. It brought its fist up in delight, a small gasp out of its flesh torn throat, pieces of skin hanging off of the trachea, an exposed wind pipe through the soft flesh around the two main jugulars. Small fluids dripped from its mouth in excitement, its eyes flaring with the red glow, Justice's orders and life flowing through the enemy. _Think! Do something! Now!_ Ky suddenly pushed harder with his left hand, the blade cutting down to the bone, feeling the sharp edge getting stuck in his own bone, but it wasn't cutting any further. He gasped in pain, but continued pushing, elevating his left hand, lowering his right. The Gear on top of him suddenly lost its balance, toppling to Ky's right, the sword sliding off of the inclined plane he made with the sacrifice of the flesh of his palm, a slice through the center of it, rolling to his left simultaneously. It turned over on the ground, looking Ky in the face, trying to stand, and suddenly, its face was smashed, the bones splintering outward of the skin, sinew forming a small pool around the gushing cranium. The behemoth Gear that stood to Ky's side was indeed a behemoth, slow and stupid, and had no time to react from a change in its position of attack, killing one of its own kind, though Justice didn't care, a casualty, making a note to increase reaction time for that specific breed of Gear in the next production cycle.

Standing up swiftly, Kiske slashed horizontally with the Fuuraiken in his right hand, the massive hand that was just rising from the broken Gear below, cut off at the elbow. The Gear jumped back in agony, its gigantic arm and now removed, left with only one more arm. It stepped forward, on top of the torso of the fallen Gear, another splash of the goopy blood, and brought its other fist up, trying to smash him. He was met with a slight twinge of pain in its massive chest, then, a sudden jerk. Kiske jumped back, the massive Gear falling backward, the hole he left with his stab slowly smoking with the smell of charred flesh, crushing the rest of the fallen Gear with its body as it died.

"They're slow! Use it to your advantage!" Ky yelled, running up to embrace another Gear in combat. Darton looked out of the side of his eye while listening to Kiske's words, nodding affirmatively, resuming his attack. One of the Gears he was facing was a bit more lean than the standard humanoid Gear, which had more of a muscle bound stature, due to the genetic enhancements off of the original base, but there are always errors in such a careless job that Justice does. It was frailer, smaller, yet faster, which equaled out in its deadliness. It could have easily been a hunter type Gear, the ones that scaled the walls in the warehouse, except for the absence of the bone juts and razor like nails, but it made that up with a speedy fierceness with its own blade.

**Switching gears, no pun intended, to Quint.**

Its face growled with a bit of unbridled anger, bits of spit flying out with the husky breaths between jagged teeth, stabbing forward with the awkwardly shape of rusted aluminum. **Gears had no personalities, but they had feral instincts. Anger, joy, the elation of the kill and scent of blood was slightly allowed. It could be revoked to pure zombie-status by Justice, but he found that keeping them somewhat sentient, to their animalistic roots, helped in their battle performance. **Quint deflected it with his mistake sword, stabbing with his knife in his left hand. The blade stuck into the Gear's ribcage, impervious to the pain, where it punched Quint with its left hand, squarely using its bony hand to knock Darton off balance, his jaw numb. He released his grip of the knife, hanging in its ribcage, small bits of blood dribbling from the edges of the wound. It struck again, Quint blocking, and again, its speed unmatched by any of the other Gears in the current fight. _He says they're slow, and I get the fast bitch..._ It brought up its sword above its head with its right hand, left consecutively jabbing Quint when it had the chanced, and brought it down in a fierce vertical slash. Quint blocked it with a diagonal turned blade, the enemy's own attack glinting off, losing balance temporarily. with the second of vulnerability, Quint kicked it in the chest as it hunched over its own blade, trying to stand up. It jumped slightly, hunched over still, regaining its stature, then trying to stand again, Darton's boot finding soft flesh in its ribcage, feeling the splintering bone underneath. A third kick, and it looked up at him, raising the sword from its hunched position, not able to stand because of the fractured ribcage. His knife stuck out from its left side, which faced Quint. The sword, in its right hand and furthest from Quint, wasn't going to hit him, though it was still a danger. Using one fluid motion, he ripped the knife from the ribcage, a fluctuating pain shooting through the Gear for only a moment, then brought it down upon the back of its neck. The body fell flat on the ground, sword clanging lifelessly from its hand, face flat. Quint took a deep breath, finding a new target, then rushing upon it, armed in both hands.

Darton's attack found him attacking a Gear next to Jaygus, who had his back turned while engaging another. Feeling the slight swish of the wind behind him, he looked over his shoulder, Darton looking back at him, a slight affirming nod between the two of them. "You got my back, I got yours" was the unsaid sentiment, like a law they all knew, but failed to grace their lips. Returning to the Gear in front of Jaygus, he continued a slight volley of attacks, each sword slash of his own finding a soft patch of skin as the Gear slowly attacked itself, unable to dodge or react to Jaygus old styled fencing swordsmanship.

**The real art of fighting had been lost, such as fencing, or martial arts. What was left in the world were only a select few, if any, who knew them. What did survive were a few things, maybe one attack, a stance, a feeling of the original. New fighting styles were learned and taught, more relying on the actual person's twitch responses than style or skill. In a deadpan battle against another Gear, there's no styles, no moves and stances, its just survival. Gears attack basically, but do so in a very primitive, yet effective way, power as their ally rather than fencing or martial arts. Thus, humans also, over the years, lost their defining qualities in combat, returning to the basis of what they fought like thousands of years past, brutally and on reaction. A Gear attacks from top, block horizontal or side step. A Gear attacks horizontal, jump back, or block vertical. Though, the Seikishidan, while not teaching specific things, encouraged learning swordplay heavily, since it was their main method of combat. Using basic methods that survived time, such as few fencing methods of continuous stabs and parrying, they knew some things. As well as a few martial arts, such as disarming a Gear (which was usually useless, considering they only worked on those who felt pain and were weak).**

**Jaygus, being a structured and old-fashioned man by nature, learned a bit of fencing. Not so much as would be taught in the styles of books from the past I read, which they were heavily dictated by skill and points, but just how to stab quickly, effectively, and lethally. No expert of swordplay, as those were very hard to find, swordplay being varied person to person in these times, but he knew a fair share. And, while dealing with Gears, most everyone found the old methods to be very adequate, seeing as how they worked. But, to someone who didn't know the old methods and thought they did, they were more disastrous than even the normal twitch type of fighting, which led to more death and more loss of the tradition. Morale of the story? Don't try fighting in some way you don't know, you'll just be killed.**

A quick stab into the flesh of the inside elbow, immobilizing its sword arm, and the Gear brought up its free hand to smash Jaygus to a pulp, which he expertly dodged, followed with three quick stabs into its chest. It gasped in pain, and lurched forward for another attack, finding a sword buried into its neck. It took another step, slowly, its fist raising further, Jaygus readying to stab again with his right hand, left out for balance, then suddenly turned around and jumped backward. It slowly gurgled, blood dripping from its throat, right leg giving out on its next step, cratering the ground, then toppling on top of itself. The Gear fell flat on its face, its hand smashing into the concrete as its face did, a small pool of globulous blood forming around the stabs he had consecutively placed on the Gear. Darton was surprised by the sudden falling of the monstrosity, his attention knocked from the Gear in front of him, seeing Jaygus then victorious. He turned back to his current enemy, the Gear ready to attack.

"Shit!" he spat out. His second lapse of attention left him open, and the Gear was going to use it, and it did. He tried ducking under the horizontal blow that was already coming from his right side. The blade was going to cut through his hip, but ducking, it found the flesh in his upper arm, cutting above his bicep, straight across. He screamed in a short winded pain, striking the sword with his own knife in his left hand, the blade cutting through the rotten steel of the Gear blade, leaving a small fragment in his arm, protruding out slightly. It was the same arm as the initial incident on Floor C, and a similar cut. Cutting into the side of his shoulder, the meat, down to the bone. Two same cuts, same arm, next to each other. The Gear's sword, now looking like a shattered piece of glass on the end, tried to stab, impaling Darton, but didn't have the chance. It was raised up from under itself, a vertical slash by Darton elevating it, the gust knocking two Gears behind it down, but no real damage. The Gear who took the brunt of the attack had its protruding chin sliced in two from the tip of the blade, followed by the gust that ascended it, like a puppet being raised by its puppeteer for malfunction. The few seconds he had while the other Gears stood up, Darton dropped his sword on the ground, kneeling down. Reaching up, he slowly removed the piece of metal left in his arm, bits of blood left on the side that cut through his muscle. A gasp of pain emitted him as he ferociously removed it in one motion, gasping with water filling eyes, looking at the rusted jagged scrap that had just been lodged in his arm. Tossing it aside, he picked up his sword, rubbing his eyes, the two Gears now finding footing and approaching. _Shake off the pain, it's nothing, it's bullshit. You're still alive, keep going._

The pain filled gasp found itself upon the ears of Ky Kiske, not knowing whom it emitted from, but not going to take his eyes off of his target, but not wanting to lose any men. He couldn't afford it, they couldn't, one less soldier, and they were all dead, as if to say they weren't already. **During battle, there were the cries of Gears, clangs of swords, splats of blood, all sorts of sights ant sounds, but the things that mattered seemed like thunder over the whisper of all the other unimportant things, such as the cries of Gears, clangs of swords, and what not. While you may say that a gasp of pain would be inaudible amongst such a battle, have you ever been in a life or death situation? The adrenaline pumping, the pure rush, sometimes that's the only reason someone fights in a war, for that rush. There's nothing in the world that compares. Everything moves faster than light, yet slower than a snail at the same time. You are more powerful than you've ever been, faster, even if you're tired, you see more than you ever have, you hear everything, you think on a dime, and you act on one too. It's, quite honestly, the single most unifying experience possible. A true testament to what it means to be a human, to get that adrenaline flowing, to, if even for a short while, be a feral animal. You'll say it's ironic, but before you say I am wrong, you should not judge without knowing. The heat of battle, the pumping adrenaline, the thrill of life and death, knowing you control the fate of this enemy in front of you, whether it lives or dies, as well as the fear that another creature has that power over you...it's amazing, in both the best and worst ways, but that is humanity itself, no?**

_No time to think, no time to lose. Back to action._ Ky consorted himself to keep fighting, even if the others died, and he couldn't tell, he'd fight until he last breath, his last drop of sweat, until God himself lifted Ky's soul from his body. He'd fight God Himself just to keep going, kill more Gears, he'd fight anyone who got in his way at this point. If God tried getting in his way from killing Gears, Kiske would go through God. If he had been stabbed a hundred times, no blood left in his body, his last breath gone, God would have to struggle Atlas himself for his soul, for the body to go limp and die before Ky would stop killing Gears. That kind of ideal burned his flame, kept him going, despite the exhaustion, and an ample dose of adrenaline racing through his veins.

He took a quick slash to his right, feeling the blade cut through the exposed flesh of a Gear's chest, quickly following with a slash to his left, bouncing off as it was blocked, then returning right to make a quick stab to the stunned Gear, electricity still brimming across the gash on its chest, then falling backwards as its gut was seared. Pulling the sword out, Ky punched to his left with his left hand in a quick jab, the approaching Gear knocked back a step, then continuing forward. The one-second wait was all he needed, his sword back in hand and ready. He brought it up above his head with both hands, and struck down in a powerful vertical slash. The Gear blocked with its forearm, the blade cutting through the flesh and getting itself caught in a wedge of dense bone. Then, it rushed forward, sword still attached, and Ky holding on feebly as it swung side to side. The constant swinging back and forth, his hands not letting go, seemed like he was a playtoy. Though, the motion was more than just derogatory toward's Ky stature as a leader, being shaken about, looking like a fool, but it ripped open the wound on his back, stitches ripping through his flesh, the bits of blood spilling out and down his back, the wire holding it shut ripping through the sides of the flesh.

_Don't...let...it hurts, so much...go...don't..._ It brought its left hand up in the air, holding it above, Ky now off of his feet, holding onto the sword still, the massive Gear looking at him oddly. This must have been something unaccounted for in the programming, but it was quickly amended, holding his left arm in the air for Ky to be defenseless. A quick slash with its right hand, the small sword, compared to its massive nine-foot body, missed Ky, as he pulled himself up onto the forearm, where his sword was lodged. It tried slashing again, this time bringing its left hand down, looking upon Ky who was holding on with one hand, other on the grip of his sword, edging it back and forth, trying to pry it free. It slashed at its own arm, Ky jumping to the side, its own blade removing its hand, oblivious. It tried slashing again, cutting off a chunk of its own wrist. Its third attempt, Ky fell backward, Fuuraiken in hand, smashing against the ground with an _oomph_, his air in his lungs lost. He stood up, gasping, especially since he landed square on the gash, a thick line of red smudged on the ground from where he hit. He slashed the sword in front of him three times, not hitting the Gear, who stood about six feet away, slowly approaching. The electricity gathered in the air with each slash, slowly concentrating itself into a center point, each slash blowing through the gathering center; whisps flowing out like a sun flare, falling back into the sphere of jumping electricity. After the three, the Gear took another step forward, its left arm dripping small splotches of blood, right stained with its own blood.

"Here you go…" he said mockingly, stabbing into the ball of electricity, hanging in mid-air like a lingering lullaby from child hood, then blasting forward, the point of the sword reflected in the surging electricity, like an arrow, the electricity from the back running to the front on the inside, then falling out to the sides until it reached the back of the arrow, then running up to the front again, casting an eerie blue light among the morning sun and dismal headquarters. The arrow of lightning blew into the chest of the gargantuan Gear, searing a hole as it pounded through its bone, turning black with each wave of current coming through, flesh bending back, bits removing itself, leaving a few strings, then those burning from the center, hanging smoking until the entire chest was vacant. It toppled onto its knees after a violent fit of convulsing, then fell to its side, one last gasp of breath escaping it in a muffled whine. Ky fell down on one knee, gasping, sweat dripping from his face and matted hair. His chest felt like _it_ was about to explode, his burning throat and sand paper mouth lost of all moisture. He was exhausted beyond what he had ever been, that attack taking out of him what he had left. Everything in the world shrank, the Gears, Darton, Jaygus, the private, Justice, God, and he felt only himself, alone and small, the pain seething from his back, his exhausted state, his legs like irons, arms ready to fall off, breathing deeply and quickly, every heartbeat surging a pain through his body, feeling it down to his toes.

"Sir, no!" A voice broke through his slight black out, jumping up onto his feet, turning to the sound. It was the private, running behind him. Then, Ky saw it. He saw what the soldier had been yelling about. He wanted to yell something to the soldier, he wanted to be in his place, but he couldn't, the private did it exactly for the reason of what happened. A Gear was advancing on Kiske from behind while he was kneeling in his slight black out. It was readying to stab him, its hand already up with the point of the sword looking down at Ky. Then, a _szing_ of a sword, then a splatter of blood. Ky was dazed and confused for a moment, specks of light filtering across his vision from blood rush, then looking to his bosom and toying with the blood that just blossomed across his chest, looking up to see the sword protruding from the back of the private, who was facing the Gear, back to Ky. He gurgled slowly, the blood dripping down the back of his neck as he was picked up by the impaled sword, held above its head, then tossed off of it, like a grape from a toothpick in a martini. The body was flung over the Gears, off of the railing, down to Floor A, where its impact wasn't heard, but what happened, Ky felt.

Slowly, his anger rose. The death of the soldier that was just in front of him, died for him, there again, another died _for _him, right there. _Not this time, not will the death go unavenged, for nothing._ He fiercely stabbed into the Gear, bringing his sword out in a millisecond, and then slashing off its arm from its shoulder, spinning around with another slash, removing both of its ankles, then stabbing it again in the chest, as it toppled over onto its back. It was still alive, breathing heavily; Ky jumped forward standing over it. He took one look at it, the red eyes looking at him sadly, almost beggingly. _Is it asking me something? No, it's a Gear, it has no life, no emotion! Is it...no!_ He slashed at its chest, then again, and again, flashes of blue with each touch of Gear flesh, the lightning surging off of his sword into the body, slashing over and over. His slashes become slower, weaker, then lifting up his leg, kicking the now dead body in its ribcage, until his foot went through into the organs inside. Looking down at his own boot, covered in sinew, his sword, globs of blood boiling off of the light blue surface, he had realized what he had done.

_No! Don't lose control, don't make me do that sort of things. You know you wanted to, you know you're sick on the inside, I just bring it out. Shut up! _Another Gear on his side approached, turning to face it and continue attacking, his head taking a break to make way for ferallity.

Jaygus took one quick look above the crowd of Gear heads, as best he could, after his current Gear lie in a dying fetal position in front of him, blood flowing from its protrusion on its belly. _Two...five...eight..._

"Sir!" he yelled, as best he could from his hoarse throat and aging body. "It's almost over!" he said with a smile, happiness in his rugged voice from exhaustion and no water left in his body. He turned back to see a Gear in front of him, one he hadn't seen before. They each had qualities he could quickly remember and call them up for, but not in the long run. One with a longer jaw, he's smaller, he's bigger, jagged sword, uses fists, hunched, no leg, whatever it was. This Gear seemed to pop out of nowhere, and his short break previously didn't make the situation easier. He brought his sword up to defend, but the Gear had no sword. Its massive fist rose from its lulling side, and punched him in the chest, all of its brute force behind the blow. His sword dangled from his hands, clanging against the ground as it fell, in place of where his body was seconds before. He went flying through the air, smashing into the wall about seven feet from him, next to a small dorm, the nameplate on it splattered with blood, but the engraved brass reading F-890. He gasped out once, trying to stand, trying to move, which was followed by blackness, dulling and covering his eyes, body falling into a vacuous void.

"Jaygus!" Ky yelled, the body smashing into the wall next to him, then slowly sliding down, falling limp, his head hanging over a shoulder. His head swiveled back to the Gear in front of him, quickly kicking its kneecap, the Gear falling forward and catching itself with one hand, a small crater from where it landed with its massive weight and strength. The Fuuraiken took no mercy for it, though, quickly slicing through its head as it sprawled itself across the floor. It fell flat now face first, the hand used as a crutch to hold it up breaking inward upon the weight, the half of the head removed toppling off and sitting next to the body. _Don't think about Jaygus, don't think about the dead, don't think! Keep fighting, keep living!_

**_-X- Author's Notes –X-_**_  
- _Zeronova's Notes:  
- This was a chapter all about fighting, all about it. I try to make the action more approachable, readable, and enjoyable then a drawn out 5k word fight. I want to make it feel a lot shorter, quicker, more alive, the fight being human, instead of just "Ky slashed, a Gear blocked" nonsense. I hope I did this, but I can't tell, you are my critics, but to my best I hope I did. Useless action isn't important, but showing the actuallity of what it stands for, and making it not boring and redundant is a key point to it I hope I nailed. Please tell me if you think I did, because that was one of the goals of the remake from the original.  
**_-X- End Author's Notes –X-_**


	16. Arc 1: Having something to die for

**_-X- Introduction -X-_**_  
- Desolate Gail__ Redux_  
_ - Started on: 5-17-2004 / Posted on: 8-30-2004 / Checked on: 3-12-2005  
- By: Zeronova  
- Chapter 16: Having something to die for_

_- _Text: Third person, Narration  
- _Text_: First person, Thoughts  
- **Text**: Interjection, the Narrator****

**_X- End Introduction -X-_**

_No time to think about the dead, keep going! Keep living!_ Kiske turned, finding another Gear ready to be cut down. One quick slash, and it fell, its abdomen brimming with flesh slowly turning peeling back into itself and smoldering to ash, eating into black oblivion from the transparent yellowish film of dead skin and decay, the stagnant blood left in it like a stringing architecture running through it. Its hands let go of a scimitar-looking piece of curved metal, on side rusted, the other not, like it had been sitting in a puddle for twenty years, one side under, the other sitting out. He slashed to his right quickly, a barricade of lightning keeping an advancing Gear off of him, as he raced to pick up the scimitar of poor construction. It was truthfully only a single piece of metal, curved by use of force, a thin and jaundiced stake of metal, which with a Gear's strength, is a razor. He took a diving roll over the Gear's dead body, picking it up in his left hand as he did, a sharp twinge shooting through his body from the cut-to-the-bone palm, but gripping it tighter, beads of blood dripping through his clenched fist and down the bottom of it. The Gear's eyes turned in its head, evaluating, changing fighting tactic for a Gear sword of such nature, double handed combat, against an aggressor of five-foot-ten-inches, about one-hundred-and-forty pounds.

It slowly took a circling step, strafing around to Ky, stepping past Jaygus who sat against the wall, unmoving. Ky took a quick glance at him while he could, the Gear being so near, he could watch both at the same time. Unable to tell if the blood on his uniform was his or a Gear's, he couldn't determine if he was dead or knocked out, but he couldn't waste time on him._ Can't waste time on Jaygus? He was the one who stitched you up, cleaned the wound, and everything else. For all you know, he saved you when you blacked out in the warehouse, you pussy. Shut up, I don't know if he saved me mid fight or after it was all over, and for all I know, he's dead. For all he knew, you were too. Shut up._

Ky gripped both of the swords harder, right hand holding his prize, left the weapon of his enemy. He stepped around another fallen Gear, lying face up and an electric burn across his chest, as his current adversary did as well, of a different Gear. Between them was about six feet of space, the aggressor of about an eight and a half foot stature, a massive upper body, but spindly legs. Ky took one more step to his left, then planted with it, and surged forward, a surprise attack. The slow demeanor of the Gear hadn't realized Ky's action until he had already knocked the first blow upon him, a vertical slash down its left chest, going through its pectoral and down to its waist, about two inches thick. He brought around his right arm to attack with the Fuuraiken, and as the blade was in mid-air of swing, the Gear swung itself, directly at the blade incoming. The force of the blades danced a symphony of sparks, both from impact and their scurrying among each other's edge, but also for the powers of the sword. The force kept the sword in Kiske's hand for a second before it went flying out, clanging against the wall and then falling to the ground, bouncing on each side like a pin until falling flat. The Gear chuckled a little with the rasping evil voice, then attacked again, Ky dodging. It was too strong to do anything directly, he had to think, to move, to be human to beat it. He jumped backward, dodging the attack, then another. He jumped back once more, seeing his sword to his direct right, but about five feet away. One more horizontal slash of the Gear, him jumping back in sequence, though he stumbled, his foot slipping on the drying blood of a Gear killed early in the battle, which was now topping about thirty minutes.

He fell backwards onto his rear, the Gear snickering in delight as it raised its sword for a vertical slash, maybe a stab, just to impale and kill Kiske. _Quick, think, do something._ He tried crawling backward, his hands slipping on the goopy blood, panic spreading over him. _Come on! The Gear sword!_ Ky again realized he was gripping it in his left, not accustomed to the feel of it. He always knew the feeling of the Fuuraiken's grip, its weight in his hands, a comforting pressure, but the panic mixed with the unfamiliar sword left his mind blank of its existence. In a quick act of desperation, he grabbed the sword tighter, and then hurled it at his enemy like a javelin. The Gear brought down its sword in a fast ascent, but the sword fell out of its hand with a frightful force, the hands leaving the grip as its nerve chord was severed, the javelin-like throw spearing through its neck, sprouting from its upper neck, bits of blood dripping down the length of the blade, running across and down it. Falling with a massive thud, Ky was quick to get up and retrieve his prized possession, inwardly thanking God for it, holding it dear and tight in his hand once again, a long lost lover being reunited.

His eyes quickly counted how many Gears were left...not many. Maybe seven, two approaching him. That meant...

"Darton!" Ky screamed quickly, sprinting past the two oncoming Gears, seeing the other few in a small semi circle around an unseen focal point. Another step, and then Kiske saw one of the Gears rise up off of its feet, and smash into the wall, part of its body removing a door of a dorm as it cracked and cratered through the wall, falling in a pool of its own blood, the spinal chord snapped and bruised. He sprinted past the Gear choking on its own blood, unable to move or respond, but dying from the impact, the thuds of the two Gears he passed turning and starting to move to catch up, their massive, yet slow stature looming with a shadow over his own feet. He ran harder, evading their small shadow, Darton about thirty feet away. His concentration was broken by an interrupting voice, not Darton's.

"Sir! We're here to rescue you!" it perpetuated, echoing through the headquarters as a soldier slowly descended through the skylight. He was brimming with happiness, seeing the commander, alive and well, he would be known for being part of the squad that saved Ky Kiske. He had a harness around his waist, and a line hooked up to soldiers who stood out of sight, to repel on the inside, boots running along the broken metal and shards of glass, kicking some down, shining and sparkling as they tumbled down to the dead on Floor A. He turned up to see the soldiers, motioning for them to let him down, then turned his gaze back down to Ky, his face changing from excitement to horror.

"Gears!" he screamed almost immediately, the private a new recruit, never seeing any action obviously, the look in his eyes reflecting pure terror, trying to scurry up the rope, the mere sight of the dead Gears around and the few live ones, coupled with the few robes of white that seemed to be specks of dirt among a perfect beach, the drop of humanity in Hell. Ky ignored him, the task at hand in his immediate goal. _Screw the U.N., bastards always in the way...just live, just go. Darton's out numbered, he'll die, you gotta help him. I don't care if he's been a real ass, he's still a soldier, a human, I've got to help him..._

Running forward, he leaned over himself more than he should (or could, despite the pain), his forward momentum increased, but to a cause. In a quick motion, he threw his entire body backwards while running forwards, his legs shooting out under him and sliding. His feet impacted with the back of one Gear's legs, its knees bending inward and the body toppling backward, where Ky was moments earlier before his slide flung him forwards, through the legs of what should have been an attacking Gear. His slide turned into a tumbling roll after the first Gear went down, the rough pavement scraping and ripping shreds from his blood stained uniform, scrapes running up along his exposed skin. His rolling momentum smashed up against the metal railing, his back thudding square against the poles, and a fiery rush through his body from the gash impacting on the metal. He stood slowly, gasping hard, a blood spot on where he has just hit, it slowly covering his back in a fresh sheet of crimson from the gash.

"I missed you" Darton said, a smirk out of the side of his mouth.

"Shut it" Kiske said, no humor in his resolve, only the instinct to survive and blood lust, driven by exhaustion, finality, and anything else he could muster out of his worn body. The two Gears from behind finally caught up to the pack, the tripped-on compatriot of theirs standing up slowly as well, a piece of bone jutting out from a broken knee, courtesy of Kiske. It leaned down, and punched the bone back in, crudely locking into the other shattered bone in its leg, looking back up with a fiendish growl.

"I got the three on the left." Darton said in a whisper, readying himself for battle, a bit of blood leaking from a cut along his side, that seemed to follow the length of his ribs across, but not quite as bad as the two down-to-the-bone cuts that formed into one by more ripped off skin on his shoulder.

"Four on the right." Said Kiske back.

"Sir!" the soldier echoed behind, neither acknowledging he was there, the cry falling upon deaf ears. They had a job to do, something at hand, more important than a little snot hanging from a wire. Quint took in a deep breath, beads of sweat falling from his face, clinging to his long brown hair in front, falling like crystalline opals to the ground, mixing among Gear and human blood. **On the ground, nothing mattered. It was all the same, blood, death, bodies, it was the same. Maybe that's how God felt, when its all said and done, dead and buried, over and complete, they're all the same, then what does that say about different religions?**

The Gears paced slowly, evening out to the humans in front of them, thinking, looking, anticipating, receiving orders. They had no realization of the soldier hanging in the sky light to evacuate them, and neither should Kiske or Darton, it would only kill them. The Gears slowly took the spaces up, cornering them, forming an impenetrable semi circle, selecting targets. Their eyes rolled in their heads, taking orders, figuring out what to do, and then executing. A Gear on each side, closest to the railing both ran forward, attacking Quint and Ky at the same time. And, at once, they split up, the battle beginning in its frivolous, unapproachable manner of sheer animalistic combat, far removed from God's word and laws, but to the basis of what makes God's creations what they are.

Ky side stepped the burling Gear, it running past him, turning on its toes a few steps late, its reaction time about three seconds, more than enough for Ky's blade to find soft flesh on its back, the Fuuraiken digging deep into its back. It screamed out in pain, bits of saliva spurted out by the hellish sound, the blade lodged about two inches deep in the soft, yet massively strong muscle, between a knot in the spinal chord. It jumped in place, screaming in pain, the blade emitting thousands upon thousands of volts passing through it, muscles contracting upon themselves so hard they burst with the rotten blood, bones liquefying, and bits of smoke and smoldering flesh falling away from where the blade was. Removing it from the back of the Gear, it fell flat, dead, the convulsing body breathing out its last breath that was choked in by contracting lungs, the tightened body limp now, expanding itself slightly.

Ky took no time, instantly attacking the next Gear, a yell coming from his mouth that equaled the Gears' in ferocity. Both hands were on the grip, despite blood loss and pain, he was driven, an unseen and unknown force guiding his every action and whim that put his exhaustion, his own mind, and adrenaline to rest, something drove him, an unidentifiable urge. He brought his sword down and across, both hands fueling the power, which was glinted off of the Gear's sword, which roused at him. It threw its own sword out for a deflect, which worked terrifically, then buried it shoulder deep into Kiske, hurling him into the railing for a second time, bits of blood splattering through the rails, the drops falling to Floor A. He stood up slowly, a look in his eyes that matched the tone in his voice, pure anger and hatred, that this needs to end, here, now, and he was going to be the one. The boyish anger and pure focus came out, though him being merely a child had helped fuel him in an indirect way that a seasoned veteran couldn't match.

The Gear tried another attack as he stood, which he dodged to the side, the sword pounding through a few rungs of the railing. Ky brought his sword down upon the arm trying to bring its sword back out of the metal, the hand falling limp on the ground, the Gear jumping back, disarmed. It growled, a look of anger in its eyes, coupled with that far away distant glance of lifelessness, and Ky attacked again, sealing again his hatred. He stabbed the Gear, who started a slight run to trample Atlas, the blade finding hold in its upper chest. He slid out the blade quickly as the Gear ran by, haggardly breathing, a bit of blood dribbling from its mouth. It was dying, but it wouldn't stop till it couldn't move, and Kiske knew it. It took one step away from the railing, which it ran into, and was stabbed once more in the gut, the step retracted, falling back upon the railing. Then, Ky kicked it, a rage underneath his foot that he brought to fruition, the Gear toppling off of the side of Floor F, grabbing futilely onto the railing to stop its fall, but its massive weight pulling off the metal, taking chunks of cement with it. The guiding metal wires underneath and inside the cement, bent outward by the cement chunks that came out with it. The Gear hit Floor E, smashing its back across the railing, then spun downward, until it splattered in a crimson circle on the floors below, landing on top of the cement and railing that passed it as it was interrupted on its fall. A small spurt of blood emitted its mouth, its entire body crushed, all of the bones shattered, organs punctured, and dead on Floor A.

Turning back to the other enemies, he continued his battle. **Now, back to the beginning, with Darton.**

The Gear came running at him, hearing the pound of the other behind going for Ky, waiting not to attack. His left hand gripped tighter on his prized knife, right on the mistake sword. He held the knife in a downward position, his thumb resting on the butt of it, blade towards the ground. He waited until the Gear was one pace from him, until he could see the organs through the rotten flesh, smell its rank, hear its breath and feel it upon him, and then he swung his sword. The tip grazed its flesh barely, not even cutting, but the effects of the sword took full effect. The wind went stagnant, stale, rancid, the air being pulled out of his lungs like a sledgehammer hit his gut, and all of the air being compacted to where the slash was made, and then being jettisoned, the typhoon blowing the Gear's skin noticeably inward, its feet leaving the ground, and twisting as it flew backwards about fifteen feet, where it landed face first. Quint wasted no time in following it up, knowing full and well it was not dead, it was a humanoid Gear, they were resilient and strong, the standard brutes of the Gear army.

The Gear to the fallen one's side moved in for an attack, but was too late as Darton ran by, after the Gear who was starting to push itself off of the floor, standing. It wasn't dead, it was hurt though, yet since it would continue until its body didn't work and every breath left its body, it had to be killed for good. He sprinted as hard as he could, the fifteen feet seeming like a mile, his feet not moving as fast he wanted. Every move he made, swinging his arms, hurt the gash across his side that stretched from his sternum across his body to behind his armpit, across the ribcage, about an inch deep. Nothing serious, just a flesh wound, but it didn't mean it didn't hurt, but he forced it out of his head, can't feel pain in the middle of a fight, especially at the end. _Get careless here at the end, and die. What the hell would the point be to die at the end?_

He planted his left foot in front of the Gear, and swung his right foot in a deep kick, right into the tissue between the neck and shoulder, enclosed by the clavicle. The tip of his boot went through the skin a little, knocking the Gear back down and back a little. Then, he jumped to the side of it, lining up his sword, and swung downward quickly. The blade cut through the soft flesh of the neck, effectively beheading the Gear, body falling limp. The following gust blew the head over the railing, the body another fifteen feet away. Turning back to where the fight started, he could see three Gears heavily trotting towards him, their weight sanctioned awkwardly between each step, their entire body shifting leg to leg in their hunched run, their massive bodies held up by spindly legs in comparison, but still superbly strong in their own degree, especially since it was a Gear, even normal looking muscles would have strength ten times that of a normal man.

**A refined Gear can take any shape, even a bony little girl, and be stronger than any other Gear on the face of the Earth. It all depends on how the DNA is synthesized and introduced to the specimen, how it integrates with the host. Frederick, for example, is said to have gained a ton of muscle mass from his scientist self, but in normal society, wouldn't be that much out of place, despite from a very increased threshold for speed, strength, and pain. The Gears made by Justice are unrefined, made on a production line, so to speak, and not very effectively, which is why they have a production cycle time limit. After a few years, they die from their crude forging, body unable to continue and be controlled, and it eats itself out, the body dying and collapsing. But, a Gear taken and made in a laboratory with the right conditions, done so with precision, will live forever, or close to it. Look at Justice.**

"Lemme see what you got" Quint said menacingly, the Gears approaching in a slow, yet deadly manner. He shared Ky's sentiment, that this was almost over, salvation in the sky light, yet these few Gears left, even one left living would kill them both. Despite being tired, cuts and gashes, bruises and blood, this was it. This is where it mattered, because if you didn't live through this, fight through this, nothing mattered, not how much you lived for in the past, because these moments, right at the end of everything, is where you need to give it all, give whatever you have, give what you don't, and fight, fight for yourself, everything you believe in, and fight for your bare basics, the right to live.

One Gear took supremacy beyond the others, increasing its pace a little, inching above the others, wanting to take the first attack. Quint stood in is place, a stance that was about as useful as standing straight up, considering his exhaustion and fatigue plagued his every move, unable to fully stand up and look at them straight, but kept himself, and his heavy, speedy breathing in check, the moment at hand where nothing else but the fight mattered. It attacked with a horizontal swipe, clanging against Darton's sword, a spark emitting as the metals clashed, a bit of the metal along the mistake sword chipping inward, denting where the blades met. The Gear was held fast by the lock though, inching forward, its massive strength on top of the pressing blade, which Quint held with all of his strength, feeble in comparison, his feet slowly sliding backward with each forward step of the Gear. The other two came up besides it readying attacks of their while the human was distracted. _Shit, they're gonna flank me._ His left hand, despite holding the knife by two fingers, was at the grip of the sword, giving more power, the hilt of the knife barely sitting in his thumb and index finger.

In a fluid motion, simultaneous with his left foot sliding back, he let the tip of the blade down, the Gear losing balance, its own blade sliding off of the left side. As he did, his left hand also left the grip of the sword, rustling loose in his unsure right hand, but quickly re-acquired. As the Gear's burly frame stumbled forward, the knife stabbed through its upper arm, twisting among the mangled flesh as it dug deep, the sword falling to the ground as the muscles ceased to function along the length of the arm. Bits of blood dripped down to the fingers where they separated and flowed off of each finger in succession. Darton jumped backward, the knife exiting the Gear's arm as he dodged a vertical swipe from another Gear, the sword loping through half of the disabled arm of its companion. Using the momentum, it attacked again, the right-arm disabled Gear receiving new orders, assessing the situation, switching to using his own body as a weapon. It attacked with another vertical slash, deflected, a horizontal one, ducked under, then a quick punch, a somewhat slick maneuver, Quint already thinking another sword attack was coming, the punch landing square on his left shoulder. He could feel each fingers, the underlying bones, the jutting out and sanded down to a mallet flatness, with all of the power behind it, and his collarbone snapping, shoulder dislocating as well. He fell backward, his left hand dropping his prized knife, eyes closed in pain, but knowing where it was, mind set on it and the Gears. _The knife! No, the Gears! Damnit!_

The approaching Gear's footsteps he heard, the soft flesh of its arm raising up, making a grinding noise against the exposed ribcage underneath, ready to squash him. His right arm, holding the sword, was still relatively unhurt, his left side now broken and cut along the length of the underarm. But, his right arm was heavy, heavier than anything he had ever felt, the muscles flooded with atrophy and ripped, no water in them to cool and have them function right, his own skin clammy, though removed of moisture. He was tired, more than he had ever been, but he couldn't die. _Get your ass up!_ Opening his eyes, watery at the bottom edges from the pain, he saw the looming Gear, its left hand in the air, the disabled one wanting the kill, in a vile one-for-one deal. Its fist came down into a patch of cement, cratering it under the strength, cracks expanding out, shooting to and from the focal point. Darton rolled to his right, the other Gear there.

_Shit!_ He swung his sword as best he could, his back on the ground, the blunt edge smashing into its lower leg, the ankle cracking. No wind was followed by the slash, the blunt side being unaffected by its unholy gifts, but the leg, rotten and holding up the entire weight of the enhanced upper body, cracked underneath itself, the Gear falling to one knee. It still held its weapon firm, and stabbed down into the ground, Darton rolling again, evading it. It plunged through the cement a few inches, by sheer strength of the creation, yet it was blunt, and a rather simplistic piece of metal, hardly sharpened, if any. When he rolled to the other side, the other two Gears were there, both trying to attack him. He fended off one blow, but they both came at once, feeling a blade dig itself into his lower right leg.

"Gyah!" he screamed, a bit of blood from his jaw spurting out in his pain, from a Gear before who landed the blow on his face. The blade stuck itself through the fleshy area above his knee, at a slight angle, denting along the bone he could feel, twinges of increased pain shooting again. Enraged and enthralled by the pain shooting through him, but also serving as a method to get faster, move better, do more, he slashed at the Gear who had stabbed him. His sword missed it by two feet, but the accompanying blast didn't. It shot back fifteen feet, whirling as it met the ground, the unforgiving cement ripping flesh from its bones, blood and sinew trailing as it rolled, finally stopping some thirty five feet away, its momentum stopped by another body of a fallen Gear. There was now a Gear to his left and to his right, two left. Though, he was still on his back, and that wasn't a very good position.

The one on his right walked on one leg, the other hanging limply and broken, unable to be stood on because of a statistical weakness in its balance. On his left, the Gear was virtually untouched, one-hundred-percent. He watched both intently, waiting for an attack, but they only walked around him, waiting for him to move. Obviously, programming updated itself, his sword analyzed and now renounced and taken into account in their battle programming, not a good thing for Quint. If he tried to get up, he'd be vulnerable, they'd attack, but he was also in a bad position lying down, but he had the sword, though it wasn't whole proof security. A blaze of blue caught the side of his eye for a moment, the lightning illuminating the corpses of both Gear and man in the invading young sunlight.

Ky, who started with three, one only had one left, the one whose back he cut open, and then the one who ripped the railing off. His third, and last Gear was a smaller one, more nimble, though not by much. It stabbed consecutively, recanting its own arm, then stabbing again, Ky swinging his own sword in an arc to blow off each of the attacks. He found himself having to evade more, tiring him down, his legs ready to just crumple and him fall, but he wouldn't let them. Backing Ky to a wall, it stabbed again, Kiske jumping to the side, and the blade glinting off of the cement, the Gear temporarily stunned by the shock. It ended up being the Gear's death, as a long slash across its body, followed by a quick stab through its upper chest left the Gear twitching on the floor, pooling the globs out of the open wounds, like old milk left our for days being poured out.

"Quint!" he said, his eyes capturing the last image of the dying Gear, switching to the reddish uniform, brown also from the stale blood all over it, few spots of white left, the green trim immediately telling him it was Quint. Two Gears stood above him, each on parallel sides of him, slowly circling. As one got to his right side, the other was at his left, one at top, one at bottom, circling him. Darton's eyes shot back and forth, tracking one Gear, then the other, his right hand gripping the sword tightly, keeping his knife in the corner of his eyes as it sat lifeless on the floor. He looked like a cornered timid animal, his head shooting back and forth eventfully, scared an unsure, but ready to attack if he needed.

One Gear circled to his feet, the other above his head, continuing turning. A blue light filtered around the frame of the Gear at his feet, under its arms, between its leg, haloing around its head, then it shot forward, like it was being pushed forward by a small pin on its back, the entire body snapping backward as its front end shot forward, the body then toppling on top of itself as it smashed into the ground. Darton rolled to one side, the carcass smashing down, a cindered hole where its spinal chord should have been. He looked back, Kiske running up, sword in a stabbing position, tip pointed straight at him. A brief second of happiness, salvation, even thankfulness, then pain, utter pain. He had forgot about the other Gear for that brief second, and it cost him.

He felt his body being picked up, a pain spreading from across his left shoulder, already broken, but a new pain. His body convulsed, the sword dropping from his hands, echoing its metallic cry as it hit the ground, bounced and rolled off of the edge, hitting more floors on its way down before it compounded with Floor A, a distant memory of an echo, all sound and sight blocked out from the pain. The Gear held him up by his shoulder, one massive hand lifting him like a doll. It had analyzed and knew the broken shoulder, and gripped tighter, the massive hand's strength shattering the bone even more, fragments of it floating among the sinew and blood gooping underneath his purple skin. He felt being shook side to side, then weightlessness.

The monstrosity threw him off to the side, the railing passing underneath him, seeing Floor F in the side of his eyes before it disappeared.

"Darton!" Ky said, his sprint continuing, watching the body disappear over the edge. He screamed again with anger, attacking the Gear who had its eyes transfixed over the railing where it threw the meaningless human. Ky smashed into it with his shoulder, knocking it back a little, then slashed across its chest, cutting through sternum and ribcage alike. The Gear stood still for a second, the flesh around the cut turning black and curdling backward, burning itself from the point of intrusion of the blade along till the end. Its breath escaped, then it slowly fell backward.

A few deep breaths from Kiske, blinking, thinking, the adrenaline in his blood unsure of what to do. That was the last Gear, but...what, what now? Darton. He dropped the Fuuraiken by instinct and ran to the edge of the railing, both hands gripping the cold steel. **You'll say "Why did he drop his sword? Isn't that his prize above all else?" Yes, but you've got to remember the Gears are dead, and that he was looking for Darton, coupled with exhaustion, I doubt his body could pick it up after that.**

His eyes looked down, seeing a small set of fingers, latched across the edge of Floor F. Where he was thrown was more of forward and across the railing, near where the previous Gear had fallen and ripped out the railing. His right hand grasped around one of the exposed metal cables, the rest of its brethren still encased in cement. They were there to guide and pour cement around, an added support, and a guide for the building process.

"Darton!" Ky said, a hoarse voice and exhausted fatigue helping him fall to the ground where the solitary hand held on. He peered his head out further, seeing the body hanging onto the pole. His head was looking down, his hair covering over his face, as it normally did, the ominous feelings behind it not seen or shown, but that is how he generally preferred it. On hearing his name, he looked up slowly, his brown eyes piercing through the matted hair and sweat glazed face, pale and dazed. "Give me your hand, I'll pull you up!" Kiske pleaded, extending his arm, bits of pain shooting from his back.

"...No." he responded, looking back down as he mumbled it.

"What!" Ky yelled back, lying completely flat, trying to reach out to his hand. Darton's left hand hung idly by his side, his right his only lifeline.

"...Go away." Darton said without resolve, a tone of morbid solidness in it.

"You trying to die!" Ky yelled, pushing out further with his arm, fingers fleeting across the ruffled fingerless glove of Darton's. Silence was his response. "The hell's a-matter with you?" he struggled to say, a bit of his alternate self coming out in his words, desperate pleas.

"Kiske, I can't feel myself, I can't even feel the pain. It hurts, but it also doesn't. It's scary, how it feels so good, so numb, yet burning, in pain, like I can't stand it, yet I love it." he said, looking back up. His voice was low and timid, very solid and concrete, yet at the same time, reaching out in every syllable. "Through all the shit, through everything, you're going to try and save me? I could as easily be an accounted K.I.A., and you can't save me anyway. What's wrong with you?" Kiske couldn't answer, he had no answer, only re-asking for Quint's hand.

"You're not going to die on me! Not after this entire time, not now! We're at the end, the Gears here are dead, salvation right there! Leave the Seikishidan, live your life, do whatever you want, but don't die!" he pleaded, the death catching up with him, all of the nameless, faceless soldiers flashing before him. "You said to me on the elevator how would I know the difference in soldiers, how can I remember the sacrifices they made? You're Quint Darton, you may be an ass, but you're a soldier all the same, and you're not going to die to be remembered on a list of the dead." Ky said, in a like whisper, still reaching with his own arm, the pain in his back now far away and distant, his shoulder blades aching as he reached, but why he reached and for what more important than some bullshit pain.

"It's my time to die, for all your Godly crap, you know about that. You're going against what is meant," he said vehemently, the low whisper changing from a static desperation to anger now.

"Are you trying to die, here in front of me, after all this shit! No, I won't allow it! Give me your damn hand!" Ky said, anger furrowing across his brow and in his voice. "You can go to Troy, or where ever you said you were going to when you got out of here. Saying you'll get out, you quit, live a different life, I don't care, just don't die. Don't let yourself die. Hanging there, you have the choice of life or death, letting go or trying to reach, and it won't be death, not here, not now."

"Always doing the right thing to be a leader. For a boy, you sure have enough of the chivalry thing" he said, a stifled chuckle turning to a hoarse cough of exhaustion, lending an idea of more than just injuries, but a plaguing injury, infected possibly.

"Yes, I'm a leader. As a leader, I don't leave my men behind. You're a _human_, I don't care if you're a soldier, it's worth saving. You're worth saving. Give me your hand." he said angrily, forcefully. Darton looked up, his eyes determined. He nodded slightly, then let go. His fingers inched off, one by one, then he started to fall. "No!" Ky leaped forward, grabbing onto Darton's hand as he fell, his body weight jumping Kiske further forward.

"Let me go" he said venomously.

"Why are you wanting to die!" Ky said, his arm pulling the entire weight of Darton, but not moving, not coming up. He could feel his body sliding downward, his belt cracking along the cement, chipping against it and slowly sliding forward. He reached with his left hand, grabbing onto anything he could, trying to pull himself back futilely.

"I've not led a life worthy of praise, I've done nothing that was worth anything. This, here, fighting for survival and helping you, the others, to survive, was the best thing I've ever done, if that's fathomable to you. I feel better about myself, now knowing that I did something to save someone else. I've never done that ever before, I've been selfish, only thinking about myself, but here, fighting, I wasn't fighting for myself, I was fighting for the ones who died, for Jaygus, for myself, for you. Our lives, not just mine, but _our_. Dying now, wouldn't be bad, I would feel more complete than a day ago, when I woke up and the alarms went off." he said, coughing between words, his voice haggard and calloused.

"You're not going to die! You fought for all of us, and that's not something to die for!"

"Not something to die for? All of those other soldiers died for it, died for you, died for my life to continue. My life should be the same way, I see that now. Dying for a reason, a cause, is not a death that is bad. But, you'll die too if you help me, what then? Their lives a waste, a fucking waste." he coughed out. Kiske knew it too, his belt sliding again, the cement putting small cracks through it, the metal being scraped into, his body slowly sliding off of the edge, his feet clinging to the cement he could. He couldn't pull Darton up, he would go down with him.

"Help me!" he yelled to the soldier hanging from the skylight, who seemed dazed by the situation, the happenings. He sat lifeless, watching. _Goddamnit! Someone, help! God, help! _"That's not true! Pull yourself up!" Ky told himself that it would work, but knowing the truth, wanting not to believe it.

"Let me go." he said again, more forcefully, vitality reflected in his voice.

"Have faith, hope! Don't die!" Ky screamed, slipping off more, bits of rubble knocking off of the railing, toppling down and over. Ky watched the pebbles out of the side of his eye, seeing Darton be those pebbles. Darton slowly snickered, seeing the fearful conviction in the eyes of the five-year-younger boy trying to hold him up.

"Let me go!" he yelled now. Ky shook his head, bits of sweat falling down, trying with all of his strength to pull, nothing happening. Darton then took matters into his own hands, slowly lifting his left arm, despite the broken collarbone, dislocated arm, it all was distant to him. He had to do it, it had to be done, nothing could be changed. He balled his left hand to a fist, eyes clenched in pain and waiting, and punched Ky's wrist.

"Don't!" Ky screamed, a bit of tears forming in his eyes, a mixture of pain, exhaustion, and Darton's choice. He punched again, Ky losing his grip, trying harder not to let go. Then, the third punch, Ky felt the punch hit into his wrist, the bones suddenly popping, not breaking or spraining, but hurting enough as to wear his reflexes softened his hand, and Darton slipped out of it. "No!" he yelled, watching Darton slowly fade down in slow motion. His face was not scared, not afraid of how he was falling backward, and his eyes closed in reverence. He fell faster, and faster each second, the second that seemed like an eternity fast forwarding, his body being enveloped in the darkness of the lower floors, sunlight not piercing down to them. He was gone. Ky lie there in silence for a minute, his hand still extended to where Darton's hand was seconds before, blinking a few times, his lungs unable to breath in and the echoing thump of his body hit below sealing his fate, the breath unable to enter his lungs.

He blinked, not able to understand, comprehend...tears falling like opalline reminders of his humanity, and everything sacrificed and worth the world, why everything happened as it has, a sullen memento. He slowly backed up away from the edge, still unable to breath, gasping hoarsely. He stood up slowly, took a step backward, another, and then fell backwards, his back sliding down to the ground, where he sat for a second, unable to speak or move. The weight of the world, on Atlas' shoulders became too much to bear, the world falling down, crushing him underneath, unable to stand, unable to move, the world itself the point of his own destruction, his own collapse. Muscles giving out, he failed himself, failed the world, coming crashing down upon his frail self he held up by his own shoulders, but was unable to hold it.

"Darton..." he whispered to himself in an inaudible plea. _He's dead, he died for what...me? He died, he knew he was going to, I couldn't save him, if I held on tighter, if I just pulled harder, how could I...he chose death, it's not my fault...is it? I don't know, I can't think, God, not even you could for see this, how could he...how could you let him...how? How? Why?_ Ky brought his arms up to his face, both hands cupping over his face like a shield, the dark solitude to himself, and silently cried, for the deaths that were lost in the Seikishidan, for the Gears killed, for those killed by Gears, for the world in ruin, and for himself, crying for all alike for all reasons and creeds, there was nothing that could have changed that. A perpetuated feeling rose through him, billowing to every crack and character flaw. _How? Why?_

**_-X- Author's Notes –X-_**_  
- _Zeronova's Notes:  
- Yeesh, this is about 7 thousand words. Kind of long, but this is the official end of Arc I! Yay! But, we also have the death of Quint Darton, sadly. I hope I hit the tension, the feeling of loss and anxiety, how the world catches up with you once everything is over, how it all piles up on top, and bears down upon him. I didn't want it to come off shounen-ai, but just think of the situation in reality, how would it feel, how would it happen? Anyway, that was it, end of Arc I. Stay tuned for more DG in the future, it ain't ending here! Thanks to all of the reviews and help I've had to get to this point, and it isn't stopping, keep tuned next Monday.  
**_-X- End Author's Notes –X-_**


	17. Arc 1: Aftermath

**_-X- Introduction -X-_**_  
- Desolate Gail__ Redux_  
_ - Started on: 5-17-2004 / Posted on: 9-6-2004 / Checked on: 3-15-2005  
- By: Zeronova  
- Chapter 17: Aftermath_

_- _Text: Third person, Narration  
- _Text_: First person, Thoughts  
- **Text**: Interjection, the Narrator****

**_X- End Introduction -X-_**

It was dark, darker than he could see or feel, darker than the deepest confines of midnight and darker than the absence of God, it was simply invariably pitch black, the darkness covering and engulfing, letting no light, no thought, nothing pervade into its enclosed campus of enslaved blackness. Small bits roused Ky from his darkness, slowly pulling him back to reality, from where no man should go, he was brought back, from his own self, letting his own self control flush into himself, the inability to control himself. Inside of himself, where his real self would get buried, he would be confined, letting out another part of himself out, one he tried to confine with all his might, though his other self broke free every now and then, his own mind rushing to pout new bolts and latches across that door in his mind.

Something was pulling him out of that darkness, that absence that covered over him like a smothering blanket of death.

"Sir!" He woke up, breathing in quickly, surprised, his body jerking to life. "Come on and get into the harness, sir!" the soldier said, standing above him. His uniform was white, pure and clean, his voice equally unstained by the evils of war or death, his green trimmed uniform the first thing Ky could focus in on with his bloodshot eyes. Kiske slowly stood up, his back aching, feeling the dried blood rub against itself, little crystals scratching each other into a fine dust by the mere movement of them, slowly starting to scab around the edges of the now exposed gash. Kiske looked around, dazed and confused, looking over the bodies of many Gears, no white uniforms amongst them. _Where's...I can't...what?_

A frill of a uniform protruded from behind a carcass of a Gear, it directing Ky's attention to it, the confused soldier idly repeating his sentiment, Ky ignoring him. Stepping over the body, he saw where the cloth was attached, where it linked up to, was woven through and around, part of the trench-coat attachment of the Seikishidan uniform, currently adorning Jaygus, sitting on the ground, his head unmoving, eyes closed, the withering black from his own hair, turning gray covering the closed gray orbs; when his eyes were closed, he didn't even seem the same man, with that smile and friendliness unable to show from his eyes whilst his lids covered them.

A few gashes had cut through his uniform; light cuts with equally crystallized blood on top of them, the body unmoving. Ky sat in front of Jaygus, unblinking, looking at the body. _If he's dead, that means..._

"Am I the only one?" he spat at the soldier, standing and turning in one fluid motion.

"Excuse me, sir?" he said, taken aback, his attitude of happiness that he found Ky suddenly shattered.

"Am I the only survivor? The only person to be alive? Am I? Am I!" he repeated, violence creeping its way into his tone. The soldier only blinked, tilting his head, opening his mouth, but words coming from them.

"But sir...you're alive. That's what matters," he said with a genuine smile. _Ignorant boy... _

"No, it is _not_ what matters, they're dead. The other two with me, two privates, where are they?"

"Sir, I only saw one, and he fell off the edge"

"Where!" Ky jumped forward, the soldier taking a step back slightly, afraid.

"Sir, you tried to save him, and he killed himself. Don't you remember...?" Ky's violent demeanor on the young soldier died, his balled fist suddenly unfurling, thinking back. _Darton...killed himself? No...I tried to save him, he said I did, why would he? How?_

"...And him?" Ky said, nodding his head over to Jaygus leaning on the wall as he sat, unmoving.

"I do not remember...he was thrown there, didn't move." the soldier said, trying to recollect. "Sir" he added on the end, afraid Kiske might have noticed he forgot it. Kiske kneeled back down to Jaygus, putting his hand on his shoulder. His head stopped down, a prayer being muttered, a slight remembrance, when he jumped backward, a gasp of air jumping out of Jaygus' body, surging in another, his eyes pulsating open, the gray shooting back and forth in their larger-than-normal state of sudden alertedness. He looked side to side, breathing heavily, his one good eye compensating for his waning one, and speedily scanning and wondering. He seemed to be losing his eye-sight on his left slightly, but it wasn't as if he was blind yet, it was just slower and more blurred.

"Calm, Jaygus" Ky said, his own nerves rattled. "It's over, it's over." he said, his hand still on Jaygus' shoulder. His breathing slowly calmed itself, his entire demeanor calming from its high-pitched intensity left over from when he was knocked out. "I thought you were dead..." Ky said, a slight smirk crossing his lips.

"I'm not..." Jaygus said, breathing in heavily, trying to calm himself "ready to die yet." he said, an equally nice quip to counter Kiske's. _"I'm ready to die." Where have I heard that...I've heard that, yet Jaygus said he wasn't ready, so where did I hear it! _Kiske stood up slowly, extending his right hand to Jaygus, his left unable to clasp anything, due to the deep cut through the center of the palm. Jaygus pushed off of the wall, standing up slowly, dusting himself off, the brown blood stained into his uniform.

"Get another harness, quick." Ky said to the soldier, who saluted, looking above Kiske's head, never making eye contact, then yelled up the orders.

"Where's your sword?" Jaygus said, checking himself, noticing Ky didn't have it on him. A panic spread over Ky slightly, realizing he was missing it too, then looking over his shoulder, saw it lying on the ground.

"...Over there." he said with a bit of undue hesitation. Jaygus knew what Ky had meant by his emotions, the change and feeling, and nodded in genuine convalescence.

"You're ride is here, sir." Jaygus said, his eyebrows nodding to the soldier, holding the harness with the wire flowing out and over the top of the skylight. Ky nodded affirmatively, scooping up the Fuuraiken before securing the harness. Walking over to the broken railing, he looked down, placing his feet between the harness' loops. _I've seen this before, looking down over this edge, the one broken bar from inside the cement, the pebbles..._

Before he had any more time to think, he was jerked off of the side of Floor F, the harness yanking him. It was a standard issue one that went between his legs, hooking to a center fulcrum for four others that went over and under each shoulder. Not ready for the jerk, he had a moment of adrenaline, the remaining bits in his blood wanting to be used, not an un-wanted and un-needed parasite. Realizing he was being dragged up now, the alertedness was replaced with sardonic anger, one that he couldn't exactly justify or place, but just that he felt angry.

The broken metal beams of the sky light warped around him as he rose through them, the one wire pulling him up secured to the harness roped over a small metal pole that was set up over the top of the broken skylight, like a pulley. As soon as his head broke the surface of the Seikishidan Headquarters, blades of grass with dew gone by the sun, now approaching past noon, a natural green that no gardener could achieve, blew silently with an unseen wind, a desolate gale. But, there was something wrong, some bit that seemed to not fit, a little bit of iconic error. Maybe it was a gail, a differential in what it should be on the Parisian fields, a different wind among the grass for something that was slightly different, deserving a different spelling. How, he knew not, but it felt, it seemed different, that its mere presence and spirituality emanated a difference between every wind on those fields that had graced his skin. Three soldiers held the wire, pulling in consecutively timed fashion. As he was lifted from the sky dome, the sheathed Fuuraiken clanged a bit on the broken metal shards among the sky light, sending an instant alarm to Ky and the soldiers, but that subsided, finding out it was only a clang of metal.

The three soldiers, after raising him about six feet above the hole tied off their rope. The metal pole, about three inches in diameter, pure steel, nine feet off the ground, the wire slung over it, was being used as a fulcrum above the top of the hole, an apex to be lifted from. They tied it off to a metal stake in the ground, then ran over to Ky, slowly guiding the wire over so it angled towards the ground. Once he was over, they unsnapped the harness, letting him drop to the hidden moisture of the ground. He lie there for a second, feeling it, indulging in it, Mother Nature and her glories he had been deprived of for only a day, but it seemed like he could write a story of eighty thousand words about it.

"Sir?" they asked, each extending out their hand to help him up. He breathed in deeply, then stood up by himself, his legs first, then his back, the aching spreading through him.

"Get the others," he said sternly, them nodding, and going to work, lowering the harness and cable back down. Looking around, he recognized the scenery, but not the littered U.N. convoys and Seikishidan units. The Parisian countryside, a beautiful mix of prickly grass, softer patches amongst them like the nectar in a thorny rose, an occasional tree sprouting its unique roots through the more ungrowable dirt, but relatively a low vegetation country side. The hills rolled slightly, a definitive curve to them, but nothing that would give a grade that couldn't be walked up without much trouble. The Seikishidan H.Q. was built into one of the more steep hills, the flat plateau top home to the sky dome, and the sloping side perfect for the six floors that slept inside of it. The flat top extended for a few miles before the hills started loping around and amongst each other, underground real estate perfection. _Too bad it's now nearly useless. Served the Seikishidan well though, for the sixty or so years it was in service, I think._

"Commander Ky Kiske?" a voice broke through his admiration of nature. He looked to the direction of the voice, a graying old man's extended hand toward him. He was left handed, and Ky was hesitant to shake his hand with his left hand, as well as knowing he was U.N., so he moderately ignored the friendly gesture. The man retracted his hand after a short while, continuing his little speech. "I am Adam Gestahl, a part of the U.N. I am here on orders to take you back to the Geneva U.N. Consulate for a recording of these events."

"Yes..." Ky said sarcastically, starting to walk forwards, his body hanging over his legs slightly in his exhausted state, to where the militia trucks and soldiers were standing around. "You mean tribunal, right?"

"A recording" Gestahl re-affirmed, following alongside Kiske.

"What do you want, Gestahl?" Ky said, stopping suddenly, turning to face the old man.

"I work for the U.N., the Seikishidan is my business, _monsieur_."

"Well, you have enough business in there to keep you busy" Ky said, his hand extending to the direction of the sky dome, implying the H.Q. "Good day, sir." he said, turning away, continuing to walk towards the soldiers, about half a mile away. The ground wasn't strong enough near the skylight to hold massive weight, since the dirt was only a few feet thick with an eight-inch thick concrete ceiling of the headquarters below that. The MTs had to have been parked further out as to not crumble that ground due to their massive weight.

"Wait, Mr. Kiske" Gestahl said, grabbing Ky's shoulder, turning him around back to face him. Kiske's expression told everything, he was irritated, angry, and not wanting to deal with a U.N. dog. "I...have a question for you." he said, his official stature and tone of voice gone to a more sincere under lying current. "You were close with Kliff Undersn, right?" Ky solemnly nodded, his eyes blinking a few times in recognition of the name and fatigue. "Ah, okay, he mentioned you. He was fond of you."

"...Thank you, Gestahl." Ky said, a feigned smile, then turned back to his walk, hearing Gestahl walk back to the skylight. _He knew Kliff...when I was young. Eh, who cares, U.N. soldiers are arrogant fools._ He walked slowly, each foot finding salvation in the soft forgiving ground, as compared to the concrete inside of the Seikishidan. His foot sank into it, a soft liquidly squish emitting from the dirt, a pleasant sound to his ears. Three militia trucks were lined in the distance, their back ends facing him, lined about ten feet apart each, a perfect spectacle that probably took them hours to line them all up right to impress him. Soldiers scurried around, all ranks, mostly privates, a fair amount of lieutenants, and probably six or seven sergeants leading all of them. Adjacent from the trucks were the U.N. set-ups. The A.A. tents were already there, their square-based tent leading to one point, emblazoned with the A.A. letters on it in a bright orange already visible to him.

Soldiers bustled back and forth, doing tasks, cleaning, expecting Ky Kiske any moment. They were all so busy they didn't see him come over the small ridge, walking down to meet them.

"Quick! Clean up that crap!" a sergeant screamed at two lieutenants and two privates, all sitting around a small box they turned upside down and were using for a card table top. They looked at the sergeant with curious eyes, apathetic and uncaring, then returned to their game. A few A.A.'s ran through the ranks of Seikishidan, standing around and between the three long trucks, their small sword, practically useless, jumping about their lithe hips as they ran, syringes poking out from pockets on their covering blouses, medications in small purses hanging on their hips, all sorts of other medical adornments over their body in forms of pockets, strap on garments, hanging purses, and what not.

Ky walked up to the base of the encampment, still unrealized, though he preferred it. There was an A.A. standing next to one soldier, wounded with a bandage over his upper head. She could sense a soldier approached, and was examining a small clipboard.

"Whatcha need, toots?" she asked without looking up, her eyes skimming along the words on the clipboard. He put his hand on top of the clipboard, the weight of his own arm more than he anticipated, the girl holding it almost dropping it. She looked up, ready to scorn him, then realized who it was she was talking to. "Oh, Ky Kiske, sir! What do ya need? I'd be glad to help you with anything, that is, if you're not mad, please do not be, I respect you highly, I uh...I..." she said, the words spewing from her mouth. He opened his own mouth slightly, whispering out a _shh_, at once she responded, nodding. She lifted her clipboard back up, seeing the line of blood across it from his hand, then looked up at him. "Oh dear, you're hurt!" her heavy American accent somewhat annoying to hear, but he'd live with it. "Sit down, sit down! Hey Meg, we need some anesthetic and alcohol over here, we got big man himself!" she said, turning her head over to a small A.A. tent, a head popping out, eyes widening, and scurrying back in for the items. Upon the blast of her loud, obnoxious voice, coupled with the so-called New Yorkish accent, something Ky had learned to associate the accent with, not quite knowing what New York was. The other soldiers in the area perked to life, all of them instantly stopping, hearing the words "Ky Kiske". Then, they seemed to work double time, cleaning and scrubbing, picking up trash and making everything look right for the commander.

Ky sat down where she told him, her holding up his hand, examining it. She unsnapped the belts around the poly-carbon two-piece armor, and then slipped off the leather gauntlet slowly, Ky wincing as pain as it went over the cut, exposing his reddened skin where the clothes had been squished to his skin. The other girl approached with a tray of the items, slightly dirtied glasses and canisters filled with the serums and things he needed. That was normal though, nothing was perfect and sanitized nowadays, and it was better than nothing. She took a small case of a see-through liquid, then poured it liberally over his hand, him jumping backward from the pain and the foaming around it.

"No no, it's good, don't worry, hun'." She looked up at him, into his blue eyes, sincere and admiring.

"You're not supposed to look a commanding officer in the eyes" he said, annoyed with her enamor with him. She instantly snapped up, emitting a "Sorry, sir". He winced again as she swabbed the inside of the bruised outline of the cut, the flesh white mixed with red, the sinew and fat, inter weaving around and amongst the muscles and fibers, the inch deep cut all the way across his palm able to be opened a little and spread. "Check my back, it's worse. My hand's fine" he said, wincing a little. She nodded, standing, then walking behind, gasping when she saw that. _Not a very good A.A., she is...ouch..._ A soldier walked up during his treatment, a sergeant, looking ahead of Ky with an over-militarized aura floating from him.

"Sir, we are from the Bordeaux Seikishidan, we brought three platoons to aid in the rescue of you and whoever else had survived." he said, lying it all out in a very professional voice.

"And were there others?" Ky asked slowly and slurredly, between twinges of pain.

"...A few, sir. They were holed up in sewage pipes, and couldn't break off the caps, so were stuck sitting there until we found them. There were four there, three privates and a lieutenant."

"Thank you, at ease and to your duties." Ky said, the soldier saluting, his feet turning about face, and him walking away in perfect military fashion. He didn't care much for the real etiquette of the military, especially not now, though he knew he had to be, he had to be a leader to admire and know, to be like Kliff. Kliff was friendly though, he was a father to all of his soldiers, a nice and understanding compassionate friend that every soldier could talk to, but yet he still knew how to and when to be professional, an immaculate sense of timing that Ky couldn't imitate.

He leaned back, closing his eyes while the A.A. worked, trying to void out the pain, and think, pray, anything. How much time passed before the A.A. was done, he didn't know, but after a while, he heard the oncoming steps of familiar boots. Opening his eyes, he saw Jaygus approaching over the hill, the soldier who repelled down to them, the three who brought them up, and Adam Gestahl. Gestahl dismissed the four privates, while him and Jaygus walked over to the small tent where Ky sat, the girl fervently working on Kiske's back, her hands stained with bits of stagnant and new blood.

"You're a mess, sir." Jaygus said with a smirk. Ky only smiled back slightly, erased a second later by the prick of a needle in his skin. She had to stitch higher into his back, since the skin had been ripped through previously, the needle wire ripping right through the skin it was supposed to be enclosing previously due to jaygus' quick-fix job.

"After we're done here, we're going back to Bordeaux. From Bordeaux, we head to Geneva." Gestahl said in a point-by-point narration, very simple and straightforward. Ky nodded in affirmation, before the U.N. official turned and walked away. He was wearing a standard issue U.N. official suit. A pair of slacks that went down to the ankle, then covered the top of the boots, covered by an un-tucked in top, collared on the top, buttoned down the middle and out to the wrists, where it was cuffed, a heavier material with pockets on each side, near the edges. **It would look like an old fashioned suit, except that it didn't have the top piece that matched the bottom, but the shirt underneath the top piece was the top piece in this amalgamation, made out of the material a top would, also negating the necessity of a three-piece suit, cutting it down to two. Things like that were rare nowadays, so of course the U.N. had them and gave them to their officials. They came in white and black. Black for any U.N. official, white for any Seikishidan or military officer. But, more about that later.** Gestahl was old, in his late fifties, long stringy gray hair greased back on his head to give a sharp, dashing image to his aging persona. Drooping brows and face looked comforting, like a grandfather, though under the soft face lied the true character Ky saw glint as he walked away. As he turned to walk away, a small flash of light beamed off of something on the inside of his top piece of his suit, quickly vanishing. _What was that...I knew I saw something._

"He's a character, huh?" Jaygus said, polite as always.

"Indeed, though I do not think he is as bad as the normal U.N. fare." He only realized the A.A. behind him was U.N. sanctioned after she intentionally pricked him a little harder than was needed for needling, realizing his mistake, her being silent still.

"Oh, and you forgot something before you left, sir. I do not think God would have it to be left." Jaygus said, reaching into his belt. Ky looked intently, then saw what it was. Jaygus dropped it softly on his lap, Ky looking back up at him slowly.

"It's...the knife."

"Seems like Mr. Darton wasn't able to take it with him. I assume he is deceased?" Jaygus said mellow and polite, but a genuine conveyance of inquisitiveness behind his tone.

"...I think so, but I am not sure. I can't really remember. I remember the end of the battle, I was tired, I hurt all over, I was bleeding, and he was cornered, so I came and helped, and we fought side by side, killing the last of the Gears...then, something happened, he was thrown off the edge. I killed the last Gears, and looked over to the edge..." Ky squinted downward, trying to remember, only a fogginess taking over his memory. "He was there, hanging...I think...he said...he said something, it was important. I don't know if he's dead, I can't remember, but he's not here, he must be. I...don't know what else to say, I don't know." Jaygus nodded, affirming Kiske, his demeanor never wavering, but the still and calm niceness that he always had.

"Rest up, Mr. Kiske. We have the U.N. tribunals after we got to Bordeaux."

"Recordings" Kiske joked. They both exchanged smirks, then Jaygus went off, walking along the camp. "Send an A.A. out after him once you finish with me" Ky said, his voice directed at the woman behind him, tending to his wound. She responded with a "Yes sir", low in tone. Despite her jabbering before, she was dedicated to her work when she got down to it, Ky knowing that now when she was working on him. About an hour later, his back had been sewed up, his hand cleansed and sewed as well, minor cuts and abrasions over his body and face tended to, a sprained hip numbed with anesthetic, and an ample dosage of pills to alleviate any other woes for the time being. He stood up, putting back on his trench coat of the Seikishidan uniform, turning to look at the A.A., who avoided eye contact.

"Thank you..." he was searching for a name to put after his thanks.

"Monica" she said firmly "Monica Bartholomew."

"Thank you, Monica Bartholomew." He turned, and started walking. _Monica Bartholomew...Bartholomew...why does the name seem important to me, like it will mean something? Oh well, doesn't matter_. He walked slowly over to the three militia trucks lined up, the soldiers inside and out, scurrying around like rats to do objectives and continue. He came across the previous group of two lieutenants and two privates playing cards on top of the box, standing over them. They played another hand, not noticing his presence.

"Ha, I got you now, Jack. Full house." one of the soldiers said, a long reed of grass hanging out of his mouth.

"You're cheatin', Mitch! You had a full house last time too, and it was threes also!"

"Oh really!" Mitch responded, standing up. Suddenly, something dropped, Ky kneeling down to pick it up, him now garnering attention from his wraith like standing above them.

"Three of Hearts." he said, showing the card, a three of hearts in his shown full house on the table also.

"You are a dirty cheater!" Jack said, standing up, grabbing for his sword. He then remembered whose presence he was in, removing his hand, and standing erect. "Sorry, sir, I did not mean to be disrespectful to you." he said in a completely different tone than previously, his complete apathy of the commander of the Seikishidan having been standing next to him for the past minute, thinking it was only another annoying sergeant. His eyes slowly wandered downward to Ky, Kiske's azure, sudden moving his head to look straight back up. The alluring sense of danger in looking at Ky Kiske was something all soldiers wanted to do if they ever met him, though if Ky knew that they looked at him, they thought it'd be the end of the Seikishidan for them. Circulating rumors about Ky were that he was a hard-ass, always being as stuck up as he could about everything in the entire military, from code of conduct to words, and no soldier wanted to get on his bad side. In reality, he only did that as a farce for his own leadership qualities he lacked, though no one saw or knew that, maybe except for Jaygus and Kliff.

"We're heading to Bordeaux. Leave two trucks here for clean up and rescue, we're going in the next hour." he said, looking at all of the soldiers who shot their glance up as soon as they felt his eyes emblazon them. They all saluted, saying the obligatory "sir" and scurried off, leaving their cards lying on top of the crate lifeless. He was still holding the extra three of hearts in his hand, the soldiers not coming back for their deck. Ky shrugged, and slipped the card into his boot, feeling Darton's knife poke into him slightly from its sheath, where he had slipped it into his belt.

**I think all of this new stuff is going to confuse you. Militia trucks? U.N.? A.A.'s? I'll take some time to explain, dear reader, as I am sure that this point in the story, all of these new things come to an unwelcome shock to you, but since now we are out of the Seikishidan H.Q., we have more of a world than those small confines to deal with, so please deal with me as I try to guide you along the world.**

**Militia trucks are giant transport convoys the Seikishidan manufactured in 2132 as a test project, a total of twelve of them in the world, six in the Western European region, and the other spread over the world to the more active Seikishidan outposts. They were long, very long, and had two rows of seats on each side, that held two hundred soldiers total, a hundred a side. In between each row of seats was a small walkway for them to file out of. They could transport a platoon, which was two hundred men, fast and affordably this way, as well as the militia trucks being armored, but only to an extent (if a Gear jumps on top of it and starts hacking away, it'll definitely give way). They were powered by a magical engine (prototype engine, remember?), one that needed nothing to run, and was always on. The militia trucks were converted from wrecks of old that managed to be in decent shape left, and the rest was built by hand, such as the extendedly huge cabin. The engine harnessed magic inside of itself, condensed magic flowing through the pressurized, magnetically sealed tubes and networks inside. It could tow the massive weight of two hundred soldiers and their weapons at speeds excess of forty-five miles per hour, but it also took a very long time to slow down. It beat the hell out of walking, but it also was somewhat of a relic, that if it was destroyed, there wasn't ever going to be another to replace it. Of the six in Western Europe, two had already been destroyed. The other six in whatever parts of the world were all missing in action, whether they were in the hands of Seikishidan officers or in pieces, unknown, since communication was another big problem between the bases.**

**Next up, the A.A.'s. Action Agency, a stupid alliteration. They were glorified medics, carrying a useless twenty-eight inch sword that they were never taught to use, but had for posterity, considering they worked on battlefields. The A.A.'s were also what women could be, since the U.N. said women couldn't be in the Seikishidan, and the Seikishidan, being heavily religiously influenced, saw women as something to be protected, not to be fighting. So, if women wanted to do their part, they became an A.A. and helped during and after the battles of the Crusades. They were U.N. sanctioned, and thus only in control of the U.N., so if the Seikishidan went on an operation not sanctioned, there would be no A.A.'s. But, A.A.'s were more attracted to the Seikishidan anyway, some following around certain units always, a designated medic, not by truth, but just that it happened that way. And that for some, it was their closest brush with a Gear they'd ever come to (unless they were beseiged and killed by one, but assuming they didn't), or meeting someone famous (like Ky Kiske). They were fairly skilled in their job of being a medic, but all of their skills were taught by the U.N., which heavily restricted a lot of the things from the old world, before the Crusades, so they taught what they wanted to. But, in Ky's recent case, they do their job, and they do it well enough, better than nothing.**

**The U.N. is up next, except that the U.N. is ominous, very...secretive and distinct. I'll keep my secret for now, since very shortly, you'll be able to decipher for yourself what you think of the U.N. and its employees, despite Gestahl, whom you know, and Ky's distaste for most U.N. personnel. But, we now enter the real world, the world that I live in, the world that Ky Kiske does, and being such, there are many things that have not been shown and done that will be laid out in due time, just like I laid out what pieces of the world I could while inside of the head quarters. Much more is coming, so stay on your feet, my adept reader, it's a big world.**

**_-X- Author's Notes –X-_  
- **Zeronova's Notes:  
- Well, he finally escapes, and meets up with some of people, and more background showing and information on the world. Also, I don't know if anyone is catching this, but I think I should say by now, Ky is NOT acting OOC by cussing or being more angry than his subtle nice nature is, just think about it (it's kind of a deeper meaning sort of thing, but you'll understand if you're a GG fan). Also, as most people know, Ky also has a...darker side to himself, so don't forget that. As for the rest of the story, next Monday, as per usual. Oh yeah, as I said above, if you're a die-hard GG fan, you'll catch a ton of small jokes and hints in here. This is the beginning of Arc II. Whew.  
**_-X- End Author's Notes –X-_**


	18. Arc 1: Hope and a drink

**_-X- Introduction -X-_**_  
- Desolate Gail__ Redux_  
_ - Started on: 5-17-2004 / Posted on: 9-13-2004 / Checked on: 3-15-2005  
- By: Zeronova  
- Chapter 18: Hope and a drink_

_- _Text: Third person, Narration  
- _Text_: First person, Thoughts  
- **Text**: Interjection, the Narrator****

**_X- End Introduction -X-_**

Floating through bits of reality and sleep, Kiske was knocked awake, the militia truck jumping slightly, going over the unpaved terrain. He sat in one of the hundred seats on the left side of the truck, a harness that closed down on top of the soldier across both of his shoulders, clipping into the seat by ways of an old and battered belt, standing not on top of him. He didn't care for it, didn't need it. What would the use of a harness be when the only direction he could go from his seat would be to the seat next to him if they ran into anything from the front. In plus, the truck was so massive that it didn't matter, it'd crush through anything it came into contact with, even putting a fair hurting on the massive walls of Neo-Troy.

A few seats to his left and on the opposite side sat Jaygus, his head leaning back against the side of the truck, eye closed and resting. He was sitting near the back of the truck by the large double doors that emptied out the soldiers. Every twenty-five seats was a small exit ramp way to each side, that panel of doorway slowly opening by way of hydraulics, the soldiers filing out in a quick manner, though it was still very slow and cumbersome, so that if they were attacked en route full of soldiers, most would be slaughtered. _Not the best design, but it definitely works in transportation. _Towards the front of the long cabin sat Gestahl, next to the driver cabin, which seated two soldiers, specialized in driving, and nothing else. They were Seikishidan soldiers by name, but only the U.N. could train them, and thus they considered themselves U.N. troops, as did the Seikishidan soldiers to them.

A few soldiers sat inside the truck, the four that were playing cards earlier, as well as a sergeant who had authority control over the truck before Kiske came. The bulk of the soldiers, about five hundred, stayed at the base, conducting a clean up and rescue, as Gestahl had left the orders with his subordinate from the U.N. who took charge over the operation. To clean out the headquarters of bodies, save those you could, and do the best as to salvage of the facility were the orders. But, Kiske knew that the real intent of the U.N.'s clean up was to find out whatever they could to incriminate him, hide some little secrets inside the headquarters, such as the mistake sword of Darton's, and some files that were classified, to be burned if found they still existed.

"When we come to Bordeaux..." Gestahl said, seeing Ky was now awake partially, his voice demanding Ky's attention as it echoed and billowed down the metal frame of the elongated soldier-transport cabin, "...clean up. Get yourself together, next day we leave for Geneva. And" he said hesitantly, Kiske's gaze from the distance as fierce as if he was sitting next to him "get a suit." he said with a wry smile, turning back from where he was standing in the small adjoining doorway from the driver's cabin to the soldier's transport cabin. Ky didn't like Gestahl, his mere demeanor of a faked decency and politeness for his position, yet somehow, Ky couldn't place it, but he couldn't bring himself to place the same sort of malignant feelings for Gestahl as he had for most U.N. brass. Maybe it was because he knew Kliff, or his sense of decency wasn't a charade, but either way, Kiske wasn't in the mood for it. Also, Gestahl was disrespectful, as far as conduct. It was one thing if a soldier of the Seikishidan acted overly military, spouting sirs and saluting, and if he was completely disrespectful and absent of them, but a U.N. official he would not tolerate being in the tier without the drill and ceremony etiquette.

As Gestahl turned back around into the driver's cabin, the sun invading through the clear wind shield, the two seats holding the two soldiers, each seated in front of a panel of instruments and switches for the truck, the light found a bit of metal to glint off of under his jacket, it slowly falling down out of hiding from his jacket as he turned, but concealed as he turned.

**The way to control a militia truck wasn't by way of electronics or all of those other fancy things, but was rather mechanical. To steer, you had to use a wheel like they did back in the years prior to the war, but it took massive strength to turn it, considering machines weren't trusted to that much extent, humanity in fear of its own inventions more so than they should have been. Also, adding to how hard it was to steer, the thing was huge, with considerable weight attached to it, so it wasn't the most maneuverable thing either. Two soldiers were required to operate it, and it kept them fairly fit, which is why they made a straight line for their destination, then let it ride smooth, hoping nothing got in their way, because if it did, it was about to be...out of their way, if you know what I mean. But, a little more on the militia truck. I said it holds two hundred, two rows of a hundred seats, separated into twenty-five seating quadrants with the two double doors on back for the first twenty five, then a door that slowly opened outward on the sides for every unit of twenty five. It had one wheel each side in the very front, then two a side where the driver and soldier transport cabins met, then a wheel for every door, two in the back near the double doors, totaling sixteen wheels. The wheels were a rough sort of metal, compacted and melted together, whatever materials they could muster together, then cast into the shape of the wheel, treads etched into them. While they were rough and would more than likely be very hard to roll, the power of the magic engine, coupled with the massive momentum it had once it started moving kept the wheels turning. They had been roughed down considerably since they were made, nearly smooth, and at least an inch bore in from where it was originally cast from the use, letting the underbelly of the truck sag to the ground even deeper, which wasn't good, considering it was already a low-riding vehicle, it's bottom barely clearing eight inches off of the ground. Reinforcing beams were welded all through and across the bottom, sides, and ceiling, as well as considerable welding to the sub sections of the truck, when it was assembled in pieces, instead of one long piece.**

Ky took another look around, the few soldiers, Jaygus, Gestahl's body blocking in the invading sunlight, then back down at himself. The anesthetic in his back was starting to wear off, the tingling numbness fading, and a sense of a burning itch reaching out over his body, centralized at his back. He put it out of his mind, the cut only a flesh wound, and it would be healed in four or five days, given enough time. He shifted in the dipped seat, trying to get in a better position to rest, wincing as something poked him in the side. Reaching down, he felt along the grip of the knife, pulling it out.

"Darton's knife..." he said slowly, looking it over, the hilt still in his belt. It was standard, normal, nothing about it distinctive, besides the use it had endured over the past. It was blunt, but not to the point of being unusable. Suddenly, Kiske was hit with a blast of emotion, remembrance, feeling. _Oh, I remember now what happened..._ His temporary amnesia from the race of the moment now slowly cured itself, the misting clouds being driven back by the fans of perception.

_"Have faith, hope! Don't die!"_

Ky slowly took the blade, reversing it so his thumb sat on the butt, the blade towards him, and brought the tip down to his belt buckle. The belt buckle of Seikishidan members was substantially large, made of an alloy metal, able to have the overlapping fabrics inside of it, as well as holding a belt tightly over the rest, and added protection. Ky looked down as he did, slowly tapping into it, both hands guiding the knife slowly, small screeches and distinct lullabies and cousins of what a Gear sounds like, soft enough so no one heard, but he sat there, slowly dragging the knife through and across it.

Removing the knife, he wiped the edges, bits of shaved metal rubbing off of them, a bit hot to the touch from the friction generated. He wiped his belt with his other hand, removing all excess, then looked down at what he wrote. Hope. One single word, a solitary statement inscribed into his belt, a one-word summary and constant reminder of what he stood for, why he lived, why others should live, his life and the world's. Hope.

* * *

_These stupid convoys take too long, I hate them, they're boring, and we hardly ever find anything. Hope this time it's different, because I am bored. Bored, bored, bored. But, this is different, this is the big ol' Seikishidan Head Quarters where big man Ky Kiske himself was, where everything comes from and goes down from in the entire Western Europe. They haven't noticed us yet, and they probably won't, we always mingle in, it's our job._ The girl's pervasive thoughts only ran rampant in her mind as she looked like she was doing something, her job constantly shifting from what she saw a real A.A. doing, even shifting to help a soldier they found, badly hurt and unconscious, to cleaning his wounds, after liberally injecting him with anesthetic, in fear she might do something wrong. She felt inwardly compassionate for the soldiers, even though not being an A.A., at least doing something in her charade that would matter in the end somewhat, before she got what she needed and left. 

Ever since she arrived, she had been pocketing a few serums, needles, the occasional piece of clothing ripped from a soldier, and anything else she could find and maybe sell later. A loud banging emitted from the top of the low rising plateau, the gentle curve to the flat part, a mile and a half away from the sky light, where she had seen Ky Kiske walk from and by earlier, handing some other A.A. whatever she could grab out of the boxes and putting it on a tray, running it to her under the fake identity of Meg, the real Meg off somewhere else. Good thing the A.A. didn't look at her, but even if she did, she could've just said "Meg's gone, I'm filling in, in plus, do whatever I can to help Mr. Kiske", with a feigned smile. The soldiers over the hill were bashing in the remnants of the sky light so they could set up an easier method of getting in and out, because they were going to be posted here for a few days, cleaning up and salvaging what they could, one truck left, fairly empty, but carrying the biggest burden, the reason for the trip, Ky Kiske. It'd return in two days, in time to ferry the rest of the soldiers back. And, there wouldn't be a Gear attack now, a giant force just stormed the headquarters, any remnants the Seikishidan now had here would take out, as well as if they were to be attacked, Justice would have to send out a new squad to them, which would take easily three days to reach them not including time needed for preparation and everything else, so they were safe for four or five days, in the least, more time than they needed.

"Hey, we're needing a couple of A.A.'s." a soldier said, pacing down the side of the hill, which was also the end of the plateau, to the bustling network of A.A.'s and soldiers, most of their work centering around the two militia trucks. On hearing the soldier, the girl jumped to life, walking forward briskly.

"I'm open, sir," she said with an authority-liking smile and salute. _Wow, I'm waxing it on good, this guy really believes me, and I don't think that these soldiers don't get a lot of interaction with the opposite gender, so it makes me job easier._

"Well, report up the sky light, they need a few to help with the clean up, ma'am." he said, with an affectionate smile, almost coming onto her with the ma'am in the end sounding a bit too friendly. She nodded with the faked smile, then walked off, wiping it off her face, silently mocking him as she walked away, him looking for a few more A.A.'s. A brisk walk and half an hour later, she came to stop in front of the twenty foot wide circle, the grass and life growing around it so much that even walking up, she couldn't tell it was there until she was on top of it.

A sergeant with his hands clasped behind his back, looking in on the sight turned as he heard her come up, waiting for her to specify herself to him. The U.N. dislike spread through a lot of the soldiers, yet they also were friendly to the A.A.'s, since they were women, and they all liked women, especially since they hardly ever got to see them.

"Action Agency private" _Quick, think of a name. Tell him the truth, not like he'll know who you are anyway._ "Bianca Renard, reporting in haste of service from another officer."

"Yeah, yeah, we need some of you down there to sort around the bodies, do your whole U.N. thing." he said, nodding down to the hole.

"Yes sir." she said, saluting him and walking over to the edge. The metal pole was still set up over the hole, dug into the ground on each side with the thick rail between them, a rope hung over it like a pulley. She followed the line down with here eyes, where it was securely tied and bolted to part of the railing on Floor F. She looked back at the sergeant, a questioning glance, and his eyes motioning to a harness lying on the ground next to her. She obliged, putting it on, strapping it over the wire, then sliding down. A soldier caught her as she met with Floor F, him reluctant to help her, polite and courteous, as opposed to the strict and silent sergeant above.

"Most of the carnage is on Floor C, so you might want to start there, or be thorough and start on Floor A and work your way through." the soldier said, unclipped her harness and whistling up to his superior, who looked over the edge, nodding as he was about to send the harness back up. Bianca turned and thanked him politely, her feminine qualities bounding off of her, taking full use of them as the soldiers, well, most, were dumb founded by them. It helped she was a pretty girl, so mingling in and getting through the battle zones littered with Seikishidan was usually simple. She had a brisk walk to the side of Floor F, about a mile, which she was just at about thirty minutes prior and twenty-five feet up. The stairway had been destroyed, but the Seikishidan were quick to clear it out, the rubble and broken stairs removed, lying all around the small arc of each floor, the central pathway barren, so a simplistic ladder set up, standard issue, as well as the metal pole, held on the under side of the militia trucks, pulled out when needed, like extra swords and medical supplies.

She climbed down to Floor C where the stairs started again. The stairs had been destroyed from Floor C and up, the ones below only sustaining minor damage, like a few steps missing, the metal twisted and mangled, but still able to be walked on, hazardly though. Her feet stepped on the cold cement of Floor A, the gaps on every other floor non-existent, the crawling expanse, forty-five feet wide and stretching for about a mile and a half daunting.

_Time to get to work, gal._ Slowly, she started sorting through bodies, checking pockets, going through the Gears as well, searching for valuables able to be sold. She had no remorse for her job, no real caring or indecency for her actions, only mild neglect for those who were dead. She continued searching, coming across a sight she was accustomed to in her shady business. Every so often, a big splat of blood, browned by the time elapsed, and pieces of sinew and flesh that used to be a head lying around. She counted three total, obviously they had fell from considerable heights to have such an impact. _Hmm, look at this._ Pick pocketing one dead soldier, lying face up, she found a small trinket, one that looked as if it belonged on a bracelet or something. Another soldier held a picture in his pockets, obviously of family, her tossing it off in neglect. The next soldier she scoured was lying on top of a dead Gear, who was lying on top of bits of spread cement and a bit of ripped railing, torn right through the metal like licorice. The Gear had hit the metal with enough force so that parts of its body lay through the small metal slats in the railing, its organs splitting through its ribcage, and the soldier lying on top of the Gear, in a noticeably better physical shape.

Near the body was a sword, about fifteen feet away, catching her eye not only from the glint of the sun off of it, but of its obtuse shape. She hadn't seen a sword like it before, it wasn't a standard Seikishidan issue one, it was somehow different, somehow unique. Picking up the sword, looking over the three arcs on its sharpened side that seemed to each arc back further, until the third one hit the back blunt edge, making a stabbing point. It was definitely Seikishidan issue, having the standard oval looking hilt and triangulated grip-bottom. _Gotta slip this one past the soldiers, it'll definitely fetch a nice price back in Neo-Troy. Let's see what he's got. _She walked over to the soldier, a private with brown hair, trimmed short in the back, but the front long enough so it reached below his chin, blotting out his face, though it was now in distinct, thick slats, his hair matted together and dried to whisps over his face that played a half-open mouth that seemed to not have taken in air in hours, from the dry cracked lips to the pale skin.

_Hmm, he's cute. Wonder if he can match that face with what he's got to sell._ She reached through his pockets, finding nothing, looking in other pockets; maybe he had something hidden inside of his coat. She looked all over like she had to the other soldiers, patting down his chest, starting at the bottom, reaching upward as she did. Her hands patted up against his upper left side, a scream emitting the dead body, shocking her beyond belief. She fell backward, scared and gasping. _Did he just scream! What the hell, isn't he dead!_ She stood up, rubbing her face over with her hand, trying to calm herself. She was breathing heavily, her own heart thumping inside of her chest like it was going to burst free and go running. She wasn't afraid of being on and in battle zones, but she had already seen a few dead Gears, there might be more, and that sentiment stuck to the back of her mind, that scream coming from him only bumping it more forward. Walking slowly over, trying to calm her erratic breathing, she could see the soldier now was more alive, breathing in slowly and shallowly, eyes clenched, fists balling and unballing as he did so.

She turned back up, looking out of the sky light, where a solder on Floor F looked down at her confused, and the sergeant looking in as well, the scream piercing each of their concentration.

"We need some serious attention down here!" she yelled, trying to keep up her A.A. facade. She looked down at the body, his eyes opened slightly, looking at her. "Alright kiddo, I'm gonnna get you some real help. Don't worry," she said, leaning over him. He closed his eyes again from looking at her, new blood starting to bleed out of his right arm, a gash through the upper portion of it, deep to the bone. It wasn't bleeding the second before, and he wasn't breathing, or if he was, it was incredibly shallow. _He was probably dying, and I woke him from it, he wasn't bleeding from his arm that I could see. Could have been clotted up or whatever, but he's alive now._ He looked over at her again, swallowing hard in his pain.

"An...anes...thetic..." he mumbled out between clenched teeth. She nodded slowly, standing up, reaching into her pocket at a slow pace, leisurely, completely opposite of his pain-induced demeanor. She slowly stuck it into his left shoulder, knowing he woke from the pain there and his body convulsing over that central point, afraid to move it. He winced, his body leaning into the needle in pain, then she injected it. Slowly, he relaxed, calmed, his breathing in open mouthfuls slowly dying down to a low gasping.

"There you go." she said, comforting in her A.A. facade. She was only playing the part for gain, but that didn't mean she was completely lifeless to those who needed help. She picked up the sword she dropped previously, looking it over, standing above the soldier as ones above bustled to lower down a harness or something. She noticed he was looking at her and the sword; his eyes open a bit more now that his pain subsided slightly.

"This yours?" she said sweetly, holding it affectionately. He only swallowed once again, unable to speak or talk. Then, she put the tip into the ground slowly, leaning over the sword, looking straight down above him as she towered above. With one free hand, the other resting on the butt of the sword, she delicately brushed his hair to one side, looking down at him, reflected by panic and fear stricken eyes. "You are cute, but you need some work, kiddo." she let slip from her poison-lined, sweet lips. A noise echoed through the empty Seikishidan building from above. Her eyes found the source of the sound, a basket like harness so the soldier could lie flat as they hoisted him up. When it came down enough for her to reach it, she directed it to the side, the metallic sides holding the mesh canopy-like bedding clanging on the cement. "I can't lift him, I'm gonna need help." she yelled back up, afraid to even touch him.

His eyes traced her back and forth, her movements amazing him from his state of disability, lying on the bed of a Gear, cement clod and a railing.

"I don't know how you survived, I thought you were dead," she said, leaning over him again. He smiled slightly, wincing in pain. "Well, you got a name, survivor?" she said sweetly, using her feminine charm any way she could. When she was on these little charades, she liked to live it up, act in anyway she felt, and see the responses, what would happen. Not like they could catch her, and if they did, what would they do? Dismiss her of service?

"Darton" he choked out, clenched jaws of pain making his words muffled, but she struggled for a minute, lipping what he said back and whispering it, until she said the name back questioningly, his slight nod, resulting in an added wince of pain signifying correctness.

"Well, Darton, I'm Bianca. And, I'll be honest with you" she said, looking around her. She could hear the soldiers' boots combing down the ladder, the loud metallic _thunks_ of each step echoing, like a time limit before she could get back to work. "I'm not a real A.A." He blinked a few times, unsure of what to think, but she answered that too. "Oh, don't worry, there will be plenty of people to help you above, you'll be fine, but I'm gonna be taking this for my service. I _did _give you the shot and motioned for help, so I think it is in order." she said sweetly, toying with the sword. His eyes suddenly changed from their pleading painful state to a more serious demeanor, despite his erratic breathing.

"Oh? You don't want me to? Sorry kiddo, nothing you can do 'bout it. Finder's keepers, and I need to bring back something to justify going out here to save your sorry asses. Don't worry, I'm sure you might find it in a pawn shop if you ever swing by Neo-Troy." She loved taunting and being every way effeminate as she could, but her words showing a bit of torturous tendencies. She liked to play with people, work them over and get what she wanted or needed before leaving them to whatever it was life had planned for them, not caring. On mention of Neo-Troy, he seemed to liven up again, as much as an unmoving man in extreme amounts of pain with a gashed arm, a broken collar bone, dislocated arm, and a whole slew of cuts, bruises, abrasions, and utter exhaustion could. "How about this, kiddo. I'll make you a deal," she said ever so sweetly, leaning over the sword, using it as a cane, her face about a foot over his, on the small, elevated hill of a Gear, and everything under it.

"When you get all healed up, you find me in Neo-Troy, we'll have a drink, and I'll tell you where I sold this little beauty, deal?" He seemed slightly enraged by her cockiness, utter disrespect of him and the sword, as well as remaining sickeningly sweet all the while. "Good, that settles it. See ya, Darton, and I'll be waiting for that drink." she said, stepping back, hearing the soldiers approaching behind. They rushed up, looking at Darton who looked back with frantic eyes.

"He's badly hurt, unable to move. Left shoulder has been severely damaged, as well as his right arm having a very bad laceration across the deltoid region, down to the bone. I think the left is shattered, as well as dislocated, judging by how he's lying." The Seikishidan soldiers nodded, running over to Darton, lying atop the small hill of rubble and destruction. The soldiers were quick to act on her words, wanting to impress her, so they both grabbed Darton, one by his upper body, one by his feet, lifted him, and placed him on the cart quickly, despite Darton's muffled scream of pain as the soldier grabbed him under both arm pits, pushing up on his shoulder. They yelled up to the sergeant above, who gave orders to other soldier standing above, and slowly, the metallic bed ascended, his eyes transfixed on Bianca all the while, a smile plastered on her face, waving slightly. The two soldiers talked a little, then went off to their duties, neither noticing the sword Bianca was leaning up against.

"Anyway, back to work." she said, sighing a little, then going to look at the rest of the Gears and soldiers, whatever things she could sell back at Neo-Troy.

**_-X- Author's Notes –X-_**  
- Zeronova's Notes:  
- And thus, we have the introduction of Bianca, who is a lot more feminine this time around, as well as a new way of introducing her, and her to Darton. I think her whole dirty-business work, coupled with how sweet she acts, is a great character, and one I am looking forward to using. Though, you'll be saying now "But wait, the Seikishidan now have Darton, wasn't he supposed to be technically dead or something?" Well, just wait. Oh yes, considering how much of a war-torn world image I try and give this, and expect of GG fan fiction, I try and heavily influence how things work around that (such as the militia trucks, which could easily be skewed as "unbelievable in this world", so I try and explore that a bit more so it sounds feasible). Also, the A.A., Seikishidan clean up, everything else. So, we start to get into the dirt of Arc II, enjoy.  
**_-X- End Author's Notes –X-_**


	19. Arc 2: Bordeaux's Bar

**_-X- Introduction –X-_**  
- _Desolate Gail: Dual Enmity  
- Started on: 5-17-2004 / Posted on: 9-19-2004 / Checked on: 5-1-2005  
- By: Zeronova  
- Chapter 19: Bordeaux's Bar_

_- _Text: Third person, Narration  
- _Text_: First person, Thoughts  
- **Text **: Interjection, the Narrator

**_-X- End Introduction –X-_**

The loud bangs of the opening double doors shot all of the soldiers awake, even the sergeant and his two lieutenants, as well as two privates into fluttering open astuteness. Gestahl stood firm over the two drivers, watching the trip the entire time, shaken slightly by the abrupt stop and the opening of the doors. Ky looked around, unaware of why he was awoken suddenly, then saw the doors slowly opening from the outside, the light flooding in from a setting sun. He stood up, stretching slightly, wincing back in pain from his sliced shoulder blades. He looked back, hearing Jaygus stand, who gave him a friendly nod, then Ky walked to the back of the truck about twenty feet ahead of him. As he got out, a soldier tried to help him down, a green private, wanting to be as courteous and good to the commander as he could, Ky neglecting him and just jumping off on his own accord. Jaygus wasn't offered any help, considering he wasn't Ky Kiske, but got down fine by himself, despite being a sergeant and superior to the private anyway, but he was too laid back to care.

"Welcome to Bordeaux Seikishidan base, sir. I am Sergeant Rivarez, commanding officer of this base, under U.N. jurisdiction of an officer residing on premises." a sergeant said, walking up to Kiske, not looking him in the eyes, but not extending his hand either. He was adherent to Ky's stature, though not overly abundant in the brown nosing, as he had received by the Parisian salvage team.

"Thank you...I'm leaving shortly, probably tomorrow morning. I need to know where I can get what I need, and relatively quick, sergeant." Ky said, cutting the crap and getting straight to business.

"We do not have any extra suits on base for your...rank, sir." Rivarez said hesitantly, considering why would they need to carry extra commander blue uniforms? There was only one commander, and they shouldn't have to carry extras, his three extra suits were residing in his locker back in Paris, custom tailored and pressed every other day.

"Well, get me a presentable suit for tomorrow, I'm going to Geneva." Ky responded, not being too forthcoming, but neither being completely void of niceties either. He had a few hours rest, which helped his attitude a lot, considering his neglect and take-no-shit attitude to the soldiers in Paris.

"Yes sir, that we _can_ do." He turned to a private, a mass of soldiers lined up around the back of the truck to see Ky Kiske, the rumors he was coming here proving true. He relayed the orders with a yelling strictness, the soldiers saluting, and sprinting off to a supply depot on base.

"Now, I need to find a place to shower and then, a medic. Also, see to it that Jaygus here gets the same attention, he leaves with me tomorrow." The sergeant nodded, taking Jaygus aside to a few soldiers who would tend to what he needed. The sergeant came back to Kiske, wanting to serve him only, helping his stature and being able to say what he did for the great commander Ky Kiske.

"Right this way, sir." The Spanish Sergeant said, leading Kiske through the crowd of onlookers to where he needed to go. The militia truck parked itself backward into the base, its back end barely inside of its weak walls. **The base was quite the opposite of the Parisian Seikishidan base, considering it was not a head quarters, quite small compared to the huge feat of construction and engineering that used to be Paris' Seikishidan H.Q. The base was basically a circle, one entrance in the front, made of two large double gates. The circular compound had walls about nine feet high of cement, everything contained on the inside. It wasn't terrifically big, but nor was it small. It's total capacity was about thirteen-hundred, compared to the headquarters' seven-thousand estimate it was miniscule, but at Bordeaux, they weren't as prone to attack. They were more of an outpost, aiding in little sieges and strives with Gears. Very often was it called upon Bordeaux to launch an attack, but they were called upon to help aid in conflicts by helping give manpower. It was built around the same time that the Parisian head quarters was, in the early 2120's when the Seikishidan liberated the Spanish peninsula, making it safe to put soldiers in France, not fearing for attack over the Spanish border, but the mountains being a natural barrier anyway.**

**It had everything a standard Seikishidan base should have. Training grounds, cafeteria, bunkers, security posts, jobs for all, a working community for everyone to be doing things and helping out in the base, and a strict-but-not-to-the-point-of-lunacy sergeant, who required "sir"s and saluting, but wasn't completely out of the window with perfection of the soldiers and the drill and ceremony procedures. And, for the soldiers, there was a part of the cafeteria converted into a bar.** ** The sergeant let it fly, since even he preferred a drink every now and then, though Ky frowned on it, now that he knew it existed.**

After a brief shower, and a suit that had been picked out for him, Kiske stepped out into the fading night of a French November. It was cool, but not too cold, and there was a bit of humidity in the air, though not enough to warrant rain or excess humidity, like there would be in Spain, or other more southern countries, Italy also. The sergeant waited for Kiske to finish his shower and dress, waiting outside of the public showering stalls, making sure no soldiers went in, giving the commander full privacy. While a good gesture, Ky also didn't want to be excessively pampered because he was a leader, a bit of his boyish attitude veering to prove he was an adult.

He dismissed the sergeant, Ky vaguely remembering the name Rivarez, who walked off, content with himself on what he had done for the commander Ky Kiske, probably running off to write a letter to loved ones on the events of the day. Scanning the base, he saw a few soldiers bustling back and forth, finishing off their daily duties, most going into the small bar addition to the cafeteria to hang out for the remaining hours in the day before they all hit the sack. The security officers, who sat in eight distinct posts about fifteen feet off the ground, one at each of the eight compass directions, looking out, had twelve hour shifts, their counterparts in the bunkers sleeping for their shift. As for the rest of the soldiers, Ky saw no reason not to go join them. He still had the Fuuraiken with him, clasping it around the belt loop of the white uniform, an equally white sheath for it. The suit fit snugly and well, the slightly heavy material clinging to him, but also feeling fancy, a bit of silk on the inside. _They got the best they could for me...not bad, but still, I can only imagine where this came from._

Walking to the bar, he had to cross the camp, which had the central officer's lounge in the direct center of the circle, everything else sitting on the edges of the circle, except for in front of the gate, but around the edge everywhere else buildings lie in wait. A guard posting security turned to look at Ky, emitting a "Hello, sir.", Ky nodding back in affirmation. He stood in front of the bar, the swivel door emitting light from each small slat around its edges, hearing the laughter and voices of soldiers inside, the setting sun letting them all know it was night and time to enjoy yourself a little. He took a deep breath, feeling somehow disenchanted, apart from the rest, since he was going to be doing something very normal, but odd because of whom he was. If he just wanted to sit down, have a drink, chat, he could have been any other of the one-point-six billion people in the world, but he had to be Ky Kiske, and that wasn't very good for his situation. He pushed on the door, and walked in slowly. He took one step, the conversation and livelihood still surging, and by his third step, the entire room silent. The cafeteria held about five hundred, the soldiers taking thirty-minute shifts during the allotted hour-and-a-half meal times, but at night, like now, it was packed with over a thousand, hardly able to walk anywhere.

The counter line where a soldier would take a tray, walk through, grab the food, and go sit had been temporarily converted to a bar top, chairs positioned in front of it, lining the entire length of it, the chairs collapsible and set out every night. The room was silent, every soldier intently watching Ky Kiske. All of the seats were taken at the bar, and the tables behind him stuffed with soldiers everywhere. He walked straight forward, a soldier standing up and letting Ky sit down, whispering a thank you to the lieutenant, but the entire expanse hearing him.

"Anything you want, sir." the bartender said, a lieutenant, directing himself only to Kiske, no one else daring to breath heavy enough to make a noise. He looked around, at the other soldiers around him, what they had, what he should have, not to lose face among his soldiers. He had never really drank before in his life, an occasional glass of wine was tasteful, but true drinking...he never had, especially considering his age, the average age in the chiseled veterans there of about twenty-six, which was waning on the "old" spectrum of the average life expectancy. A soldier sitting next to him looked at him intently, his eyes scurrying above his head if Kiske turned to look at him, adhering to the Seikishidan code of "never look a commanding officer in the eyes".

"What he's got, thank you." Ky said, nodding to the private on his left. The bartender got it together, and handed him the small glass, a clean and cut glass one, shined and perfect. Glancing around him, all of the other soldiers had lackluster cups, made of a type of paper or wood, some soldiers even having specialized utensils of their own that they always used. It was a hard liquor shot, an amber liquid. Ky picked it up, stirring his finger in it for a second, looking out of the sides of his eyes as the entire room watched. _Jeez, this was a bad idea. Don't let me fail, come on, just down it, do it..._ Ky raised the glass, and then shot the liquor as he had seen other soldiers doing. He smashed the glass down back on the counter top, a loud _tink_ echoing through the silent dining hall. His throat instantly burned, feeling on fire, coughing a little bit. A murmur spread through the crowd, his inability to drink, as well as how young he was. He was losing a little face with the soldiers, considering here is where he would need to prove anything to all of the soldiers, at least proving he was one of them, but he failed right in front of them.

"Ha, always the boy who can't take no shit, eh Ky?" a gruff voice boomed through the cafeteria turned saloon. Murmurs circulated fervently. Who said it? They're screwed. Well, he is telling the truth. Then, they all hushed as the soldier stood up, his position slightly hidden, since a good deal of soldiers were standing in the room not meant for the number of soldiers in it, but he made himself known, and Ky knew exactly who it was anyway.

"What are you doing here?" Ky said more so than asked, condescendingly, the abuser pushing through the crowd of soldiers, slowly approaching Ky.

"I can be where ever the fuck I want to be, in case you didn't notice." He dragged the tip of his sword along the ground, holding it upside down, a trail of fire in the wake of the sparks emitting from the square-tip of the blade.

"Sol, leave here. You left the Seikishidan, now you stay here?"

"Hey, I'm here for a drink, got a problem?" he said, reaching Ky and standing three or four inches above him, his muscular persona towering and imposing.

"Yes."

"You still pissed about that? Shit son, let it go. And, before you try and be a big boy, at least know how to and learn how to drink." he said, smirking defiantly. He turned to the bartender, leaning on the counter, asking for another beer. He got it, but it was thrown at him, the gruff man catching it expertly, muttering a stifled curse. He raised it, taking a long gulp, keeping on the chug. Everybody was silent, watching this guy who didn't fit in before, but they never cared, since if they messed with him, they knew what happened. **Three weeks prior, when he first arrived, a soldier had a big deal with his attitude. Next day, he was in the medic's office with three broken ribs and a broken knee, not to mention more than a fair share of bruises, cuts, and burns.**

"I will not forgive you for abandoning the Seikishidan after you _stole_ one of our artifacts, then completely disregard all things in this world and the next for your personal amusement."

"Is that so?" he said sarcastically, throwing down the empty beer bottle on the floor, it shattering across the ground, shards jumping up the boots of Ky, falling back to the ground, light ballerinas of glass around his feet. Ky couldn't stand it any further, the stand off between them being too much. He balled his right fist, and lunged at Sol, claiming a clean punch across his jaw. Sol's body stood still as his face bent with the blow, Ky veering back, standing straight, fingers tingling to grab for his sword.

Sol chuckled a little, his hand readjusting his jaw, looking back at Ky. A slight whisper and fervor surged through the crowd watching the spectacle, the majority wanting Kiske, but a few of the soldiers, mostly the older ones who preferred Kliff, wanting him to be put in his place because of being a child. Suddenly, Sol returned the punch in Ky's chest, straight from his side, not much space between them, but the punch sending Ky back five feet, where a few soldiers caught him, pushing him back standing. He tried standing straight up and menacing, but he coughed slightly, trying not to, his eyes watering under the pain in his chest.

"Yeah, you're still a damn boy. Don't start shit with me unless you can finish it, boy." Sol said, walking past the coughing commander, and out of the door, stares of soldiers, marking him for death only exciting him. As soon as the swinging door stopped moving, all of the soldiers jumped to life, trying to help Ky or murmuring amongst themselves that he got what he deserved, the entire room resuming its normal flow.

"Thank you" he said to a few soldiers who tried to help him. "I'm going to go get some fresh air before I go to Geneva. Send my regards to the bartender for the...", searching for an answer.

"Whiskey." a soldier said in place of his stupor.

"Yes, send my thanks for the whiskey." They nodded, and Ky followed Sol out of the bar slowly, the pain in his chest subsiding, but he knew he'd have a print of Sol's fist embedded on his sternum for the next few days. He stepped out into the night, hearing his name circulated between the rowdy soldiers, the noise emitting from the thousand plus there nearly deafening compared to the silence before.

"Need to learn when to stop your crap, boy." Ky heard the voice again. Looking to his side, he saw Sol sitting on top of the outside wall of the Seikishidan base about twenty feet behind the dining hall, which was built at a two-hundred-and-seventy degree angle, following azimuth coordinates, not far from the outer wall, like most buildings were, a centralized circle of open space from the center building and all of the rest. Sol was smoking a cigarette, taking deep drags off of them, no concern for anything but the smoke that seeped from his nostrils.

"You're disgusting, go die, pig." Ky said, spitting after he said the words, like their intended listener left a foul taste in his mouth.

"The whiskey coming back up?" he said with a bit of laughter at the spitting, which had nothing to do with the drink.

"Shut up." He said simply.

"I hear you almost got killed in that whole head quarters attack." Sol said to Ky, Kiske only turning and walking off. "I also heard that you let some guy die in front of you." Ky stopped his walk, suddenly turning. _How does he know about Darton!_ Quickly walking over to Sol, who was about ten feet off the ground, sitting on the nine-foot cement circular border.

"How do you know about that?" he said furiously.

"I got my methods." he responded, smirking. He flicked the smoked butt of his cigarette towards Ky, the sputtering orange glow being stamped out by the dirt around Kiske's feet. He pulled another out from his pocket on his tight blue jeans, the knees ripped out from years of use, and the blue faded to a dull white over the abuse. He brought the tip of the cigarette to the tip of his blunt, square sword that was hanging from his right hand. The tip burst into flame, smoke spewing from it before he brought it to his mouth, and took a drag that burned down through the tobacco halfway, a gigantic drag.

His sword was of a Seikishidan lineage, the long grip of the same width and length as the Fuuraiken and every standard issue one, except the end, instead of the triangular bottom-grip, was a rubbery black knob. Further changes would be the hilt, which was not the large egg-shaped obtrusion, but rather a blunt rectangular prism jutting out in every direction very unsubtly, no sense of smoothing or sleekness to it, but a hard definition. From this large jutting out block came the blade, a rather wide blade, and bluntly flat in the end, almost like a long rectangle of steel. On each side, in the middle of the flat sides was a red metal shard extending up to about an inch before the edge on both sides, lined with small holes for venting purposes and bolts lining it, completely disregarding style or fluidity, but opting the jagged style. It suited Sol, his rough attitude and the blunt, rectangular sword design also apt in his muscular frame.

He had two belts wrapped around his upper right leg, for which reason unknown. They weren't big enough to be real belts, but they both wrapped parallel, around his leg, not tight, but there for style. He wore a red leather vest that seemed almost too small for his massive muscular figure, the vest not going out enough to his shoulders and cutting short on his body, where a black under shirt took over. His shoulders were exposed, as were his arms al the way down to below his elbow, where he had a Seikishidan issue gauntlet, a red level sergeant from his previous years. To further his past-Seikishidan life, he had his red, sergeant level mid-stripe that hung between his legs, latched into his belt, kind of like a stiff reminder that he was in the Seikishidan _and_ a sergeant, so "piss off". Two similar belts on his leg covered his massive left bicep, not tight, but there for style. In plus, if he ever needed to cut the blood flow off to a wound, he could take a belt, tighten it above the wound, and the circulation would be stopped.

He had very chiseled and pronounced facial features, a jutting chin, high cheek bones, and lowered eyes that seemed to jut inward, covered by his mess of hair. His brunette hair seemed to have been growing for all of his life, reaching down to his thighs. Bits of hair fell in front of his face, but most of it grew backwards, spiking out in every direction before it fell flat backward. Above his eyes, and covering his right too, was a metallic semi-circle, the words ROCK ON inscribed across it, attached by two belts that ran through it. Ky had never seen Sol without that metallic bracelet on his forehead, a few strands of hair trapped underneath it.

**Something you don't know, and I have hinted at in the past, is why Ky hates Sol so much, so let me digress from the story, and his eccentric dressing, despite his raw power and arrogance. Sol...is an interesting guy. His full name, Sol Badguy, completely reeks of cliché and stupidity, obviously not his real name, but his imposing figure and attitude make sure anyone who would be willing to dispute it got what they deserved. Also, as you noticed, his sword isn't normal either. It is quite the opposite. As you heard, he stole it from the Seikishidan. About four months prior, when Sol had "joined" the Seikishidan, he left about a month later, taking with him the Fuurenken, the Fire Seal, another Frederick sword. He seemed intent on taking it ever since the beginning, talking and asking about it. But, when it came down to it, he took it in the middle of the night, one soldier on duty trying to stop him, but was found the next morning hanging from Floor D, the only thing keeping him from falling was his trench coat, still around his arms, the bottoms tied to the railings and gagged, with a set of bruises about his head. He had made sure his arms stayed in the coat, and was there all night, until they found him, half awake and battered from Sol.**

**Anyway, Sol is very strong, almost inhumanly so. He joined the Seikishidan on the word of Kliff. When Kliff handed the reigns to Ky Kiske, he had two things he made Ky promise to do. End the war, and to recruit a "Sol Badguy". He seemed intent to hire Sol Badguy, and it was tough tracking him down, but he was working as a bounty hunter, so they eventually found him and he did as Kliff asked, no questions, which Ky found odd even to this day, considering Sol's hatred of authority or being told what to do. Ky had hated Sol ever since he stole the sword, and because of his attitude which seemed to be that of Quint's, but magnified ten fold, a total and utter lack of caring for everyone and everything, simply because he _could_. In the few missions that Sol had taken while in the service of the Seikishidan, he had inflicted heavy damage, breaks, deep gashes, you name it, but miraculously, he never visited an A.A., and was good as new a day or two later. A true super soldier, which is probably why Kliff wanted him. Some things about Sol that also make him stand out is that he smokes, drinks, and does everything he wants, not to mention being a constant throw back to something he calls the "eighties". I guess that's why he has all the belts over his body, as well as the severely faded blue jeans, which seem a dull white, and not a haircut in sight. I'm falling off course a bit though, sorry. **

**It seems I have taken up my space for this chapter, so we'll continue our next on the next day. Let's just say that Ky couldn't get answers out of Sol, and he didn't want to result to getting in a fight with Sol, since he had quite a few with him during and after he was in the service of the Holy Order, and that he was still beaten up from the Parisian incident. But, it was close, real close to him just going all out on him. Every time they fought though, Ky lost, Sol seeming no worse for the wear, and every time, Sol could have killed him, yet he didn't. Maybe he just wants to prove he is the best, and that's it. So, on the next day, we have Ky going to the U.N. head quarters in Geneva, accompanied by Jaygus and Gestahl. The drama. Speaking of drama, I know you as my reader are probably questioning my sanity, as to be introducing a character such as Bianca. Trust me, reader, there is plenty of cause to everyone in this story, not just rampant extras and others, and also keep an eye out for every character, I could be any one of them. Also, while the focus is now on Ky, I will switch over to Darton, who is apparently not dead. Did I give any of you readers a shock for a chapter or two while he was in absence? I hope I did, considering that he was in all honesty supposed to be dead, those events I depicted being very true to reality. No body knows how or why he lived, despite that its possible the Gear was a cushion for his landing, but that was still six stories he dropped, and not to mention all of his injuries...oh well, I'm not one to argue with who God decides should die or not, that's His beef. Sorry to cut it short, reader, but I just gave a bit too much more than I needed this chapter, the next we'll get more. But, what do you have to wait? Just flip the friggin' page and quit reading my rambling.**

**_-X- Author's Notes –X-_**  
- Zeronova's Notes:  
- Heh, like I said, the narrator is a character, and this is a book in 2175, not a fan fiction wink. For those actually waiting now, you can't flip the page, you just gotta wait a week. Anyway, what I had the narrator say isn't too far from true, I wanted to do more with this chapter, but just kind of fell short. Oh well, I got plenty planned in the next few. And, more Bianca and Darton too. For the record books, this was written July 28th, 2004, and released September 20th (talk about ahead of schedule...jeez...).  
**_-X- End Author's Notes –X-_**


	20. Arc 2: God's always got a plan

Night fell upon the Parisian fields like the bodies had days prior to the onslaught of Gears. The cool night seemed to smooth itself over, not smother or explode upon, but a very slight migration onto the foot high grass; however breaking the civility were the two militia trucks and rows of small tents, housing both A.A.'s and Seikishidan soldiers. The medical stations sat in an open-air tent, the sides open to the night, a total of five soldiers lying on the beds, recovering. A few soldiers bustled about, but most were in their tents, four to a tent, no light but the pale moon as their solace, casting an eerie silver over the scene.

The commanding sergeant had his own tent, which was situated between the A.A.'s and the Seikishidan, to make sure no foolery would happen, though some still got through, for those stealth enough to evade the nightly patrols, and some of the patrols letting the soldiers pass, feeling their plight, or out of friendship. The A.A.'s, while professional, welcomed the Seikishidan, but didn't encourage them either; it was an odd mix. They both had been separated from the opposite gender in their work and training, and that they were always on knife point, ready to die, so why not live life to the fullest while you can?

Their tents were made of a plastic sheeting, rain repellant, though not terribly strong, just enough for a tent. The militia truck housed a chest full underneath some of the seats, and they pulled them out, each militia truck having fifty folded up tents (**four to a tent, two hundred soldiers to a truck, seeing a pattern in how the planning goes for these sorts of things?**), for a full roster of soldiers. The A.A.'s also had them, as part of their packs which they carried with them, including medicines, syringes, scalpels, and whatever else a battlefield medic would need, opposite the small and useless sword.

A low rustling in the grass awoke Darton, lying among the five wounded under the open-air tent. He looked around groggily, the anesthetic wearing off and his body out of its euphoric floating state and coming back down to reality. He preferred reality, being in control of his body, but it also let the pain come, which he didn't like, so he was in a tight space, but reality suited him more. Lifting his head slightly, he looked around, arcing his eyes to the best extent of which he could. The lunar ensemble of light playing itself in hues of blue and white, depending on the object and its direction to the full moon, only served to further make him more anxious. He could hear nothing now, but he knew he heard something, a low rustle. He knew Seikishidan procedure for things like this, there should be a few guards walking perimeter, looking out for enemies, but he couldn't hear any of them.

A slow panic worked itself through his body, the rustle coming back. His head jumped up, searching, then it was gone. _Get up, you're not staying here to find out, get up. Yell for the Seikishidan, do something. No, not the Holy Order, I'm dead, they shouldn't have any more evidence to me besides that, do it yourself, get out of here and move._ He painfully moved his legs, heavy as cinder blocks, though it was a welcome improvement from when he was on Floor F, from what he could recall. Swinging his legs off of the edge, he put his right palm on the side of the elevated medic bed, two metallic legs on bottom extended upward so it sat at hip-level of a normal person, so they could work. He looked at his right arm, where the blade had been lodged down to his bone. They had put in anti-bacterial bio-degradable tissue inside, cleansed it out, then stitched it up. The tissue would make sure the muscle grew back into place, and his arm didn't sag down, and when the body was well enough to start building the muscle, the blood would slowly eat the tissue away, all while the wound was shut. His left arm had been popped back in, so it was no longer dislocated, but his arm was in a sling, the shattered collarbone showing numerous skin taps where needles had been. _Alright, here goes, push off and stand, easy, just stand..._ He prepared his body and mind for what would take more energy than he had and would pull pain on him, maybe too much as to the point of collapsing.

_One...two...thre_He was about ready to push off of the bed, to stand on his own feet, but was pulled backward. His back smashed into the bed, his feet hanging off, his left shoulder rocketing pain through his nerves and synaptic relays, a stifled gasp jumping from his clenched teeth. He opened his mouth to scream out in pain, where another hand covered that. His eyes jumped around, he couldn't see anything underneath the cover of the tent, there was no light in the shade, the silver outside didn't show an attacker, but he now knew why; it was behind him. He struggled, his right hand jumping back and forth, trying to remove the hands from him, grunting without able being to talk. He tried lifting his right arm above his head to fend himself off, but the pain was too great from the puncture, and his left was useless. He was as good as dead.

"Quit fighting, jeez." he heard a voice console him. Suddenly, he stopped being so violent, calming a little, knowing it wasn't a Gear. _Whew, not a Gear, but waitwhat the fuck?_ "I come to see how you're doing and this is how you repay me." the voice said again, a tinge of femininity in it. _An A.A._ She slowly removed her hand from over his mouth, her other hand from his right shoulder where she pulled him back. Then, she leaned over him, looking into his eyes. Through the darkness, he could discern her slightly, a bit of the moonlight rebounding off of the dew-forming grass to show skews of her face.

"Who the hell are you?" he said in a vicious whisper.

"You don't remember?" she said sweetly, tilting her head in a very perplexed way, but an act, and Darton knew. "Ha, like I would expect you to remember from all the shit you been through. Name's Bianca, and I'm the one who found your sorry ass, so show some sympathy."

"Found me?" he said, unaware of what she was talking about. She rolled her eyes, sighing slightly, her tone an annoyed whisper.

"Yes, found you. Floor A, on top of a heap of crap, looks like you fell a few stories, and you had taken some serious hits. Not to mention you owe me a drink." The final sentence came as a mild shock to Darton, her nice and delicate exterior not fazing him, her obnoxious and self-centered views coming out.

"Owe you a drink? Wait up, A.A., where" he said condescendingly.

"Bianca." she responded with dutiful seriousness.

"Fine, Bianca…where am I?"

"Top of the Seikishidan H.Q., clean-up crew. Kiske already left here, you should have been alive to see it, he was real battered, but still, he was Ky Kiske…wow." Darton sneered at the name slightly to her eyes replaying the scene in her own head.

"Yeah, yeah..." he responded, not letting on he knew Ky, but neither wanting to hear much more about him. "Why did you come here? Middle of the damn night? I don't know any A.A.'s who do night service to already-treated patients."

"Well, you don't remember anything, do you? I'm not an A.A." she said, presumptuously, bits of arrogance in her words. "I'm an actress, a bit of a thespian. I follow the A.A.'s and Seikishidan around, salvage what I can, go back home, sell it, and leave again. It's a nice job, get to see the limited world." she said, looking off day-dreamingly, a fake act of attention and humor, which failed to pierce Darton. His stern glance only deflated her ego. Sighing, she continued. "Fine, fine, I got your weapon...sword...thing. I was going to sell it, and I told you I was going back to Neo-Troy, you seemed excited, or something or another when I found you. You were a real mess, you don't remember anything about it…" she said, trailing off, then snapping back to her point. "Basically, wanna go?" she said, simply.

"...What about a knife? Did you find a knife?" he shot back instantly. She was taken aback, then thought.

"No...no knife, sorry. Anyway, what's your deal with Neo-Troy?"

"...I was going to go there once I retired, live out my days, you know? Seems even when I can't remember, I still am thinking about shit like that." She smiled slightly, finding they had a common interest.

"Alright, I can take you, but you're going to have to leave behind the Seikishidan."

"...Wait, why are you doing this?" She looked at him questioningly before he continued. "So, you're not an A.A., alright, but you did find me, and get me help. Now, you come and ask me to come with you to Neo-Troy, what the hell is going on? You ask a soldier to leave his army, to go with you, someone I do not know, and you not to me either, but you asked?"

"Fine, stay here." he said, standing and walking away.

"No, wait." he said feebly. She turned, looking back. He couldn't see her from his lying position, but knew she stopped. "Yeah...I want to go." She walked back over and leaned over him, her face about a foot and a half over his. Her semi-long hair, down to the bottom of her neck fell on top of his face barely, the tips grazing along his features as a slight wind blew past.

"So, you do want to go. Good. Think you can make it for a few miles?" she asked.

"...Why?"

"Because I got a friend waiting a few miles from here to pick me up before we head back to the big T." He nodded, and then she walked around, helping him to stand. As he set his feet on the ground and stood up, his knees buckled slightly, his right arm around her, her supporting him.

"Alright, you're an A.A. copycat, so, you should still have some anesthetic or something." She nodded, understanding what he meant. He was a bit gruff and forwarding, but she expected that.

"The shots only work for one area; the pills do the whole thing, though not as powerful as the shot. I say the pills."

"Yeah...pills." After downing about five of them with mixed contention of the awful taste as they want down dry, he started to walk stumbling, Bianca by his side to help him. They slowly treaded forward, each step cautious to not warn the Seikishidan or real A.A.'s. They got about fifty or so feet from the encampment, before they heard another set of foot-steps. Quint leaned over, whispering erratically.

"It's a sentry, they post around the area, shit, duck." He tried falling, but his arm was around her back, for support, and she wouldn't let him go down. "The hell are you doing! They'll find us!"

"Shuddap, Darton." The footsteps got a body, then a face, as the soldier approached the two standing still. _Goddamn girl, she doesn't know what she's doing, we're gonna caught, her exposed; me...turned back to service or whatever. I don't wanna spend anymore time here than I need, not to mention what'll happen after the little stunt I pulled on Kiske before I...No, don't think about it, things are a bit different now. You got a place to go now, no need for that._

The soldier approached slowly, his sword at side in a sheath, patting against his leg at each step. He walked lazily over to the two of them, stopping short at about five feet.

"Who's your friend?" he said to Bianca questioningly, his hands at his hips.

"Guy wants to go to Troy also, so I couldn't resist." Darton looked back and forth at them, unsure of what was going on.

"Well, you're lucky she's helping you out, pal. She can be a real bitch." he said with a chuckle to Darton. The girl feigned surprise, then smiled slightly.

"I got some good stuff out here, tell my employer next time the Seikishidan get a call like this, I'll cut you in the profit. See ya, Jake."

"Next time, Bianca." he said, smiling, then continuing his walk around the perimeter, watching for Gears.

"...You know each other!" he said in a ferocious whisper. She looked over at him, rolling her eyes.

"Of course, you think I could get this sort of job done without someone on the inside? Me and Jake grew up in T, he's a friend. Anyway, we gonna get out of here or stand here jabbering? My friend won't wait around for too long."

The morning sun filtered in through the unwashed and old glass window of the officer's lounge. Ky slept in their for the night, the sergeant who lead the base resigning himself to a normal soldier's dorm. There was still empty space in the dorms, though hardly. He awoke at the crack of dawn, dreams of unease making his night not as good as his first night of real sleep after his ordeal should have been. Standing up, he slowly put on the suit he wore the night earlier. It still had a slight smell of the alcohol from the night previous, just being in the bar giving his uniform a slight scent of whiskey. It'd be gone by the time they reached Geneva, but it still put him at unease, especially since he was the commander.

_You were stupid for doing that last night. What were you thinking? Trying to prove you can drink in front of soldiers. You are just a boy, don't act like you're not. You may be sixteen, but you're the leader, you don't have to try and be someone you're not._ After his mind raced over that incident, he shifted to Sol. _Why was he here? Did he have any reason? Seems I can't go one day without someone to piss me off, and it's always in some position where I cannot do anything about it, but I have to keep my reserve and cool; I am the commander._

He slowly slid on the pants, thinking still. Then, over an undershirt, the suit top. He put his arms up to get through the sleeves, wincing slightly at the cut on his back, and a throbbing pain on his chest, a red imprint of Sol's fist on his ribcage. The white pants were perfectly pressed and wrinkle free, long enough so that the edges covered over his boots, but didn't furl over themselves. The top came down to a few inches past his hip, onto the femur with each of the two flaps at the bottom, the white buttons stopping below his belt, and the two edges of the suit spinning out and down, like an old tuck in shirt, except this was like a suit top, removing the three-piece suit to a two-piece suit. The arms were cuffed at the wrist, all white still, a small collar at top with a turtle neck layer underneath that was a mock up, a fabric turtle neck that started at an inch below the collar, giving the impression of another shirt under it. They couldn't afford to have those extra pieces, but they also wanted to still look nice, so these U.N. required suits and priorities to looking nice when addressing them annoyed Ky.

He stepped out into the brisk morning, rubbing his hand through his hair slightly, the wheat colored bangs falling back in front of his azure eyes, reflecting the cloudless sky. A fading full moon sat at the horizon, the opposite one showing a rising sun, like competing rivals, one edge of the sky a purple hue of midnight, the other bursting with oranges and pinks, elaborating the life to day, and death to night in the sky above, an eternal duel of the fates, stars marking battles and those dead for eternity in the story more read than even the Bible, the skies and earth itself. His first step out was hesitant, dirt and something else under his foot. Stepping back, he saw a cigarette butt lying lifeless. _Sol put that there intentionally..._ He took another step forward, something jabbing his chest, not the pain, but something actually poking. Mentally kicking himself, he reached into the suit top, and pulled out the small golden necklace he had found in the Head Quarters, looking at it again, sparkling a bit from the dawn above. The chain was thin, and the cross was a small, a solid-gold trinket on the chain, only about an inch long, but it gave him something, a special sense of security and feeling of something gone by. He brought it up on his neck a little further, making sure it was free of the confines under his suit, then let it rest on top of his uniform, the gold contrasting the pure whiteness of the U.N. required attire. The Fuuraiken was in a pure white holster at his side, looped underneath to a rung on the pants, covered over by the top, and only the sword being seen, the small decoratory frills on the sheath more elegant than standard sheaths, which were hardened cloth, a leather-like substitute.

_I need to go find the chapel before I leave...get something off my chest._ He took a hesitant step outside, looking about. The morning was very young, no soldiers buzzing except for the few walking perimeter and on the lookout towers, none of them aware of Ky's recent intrusion into the morning, a man among such things in the sky and around him. He took a guess, and started walking, searching for the chapel, knowing the base had one. _One of the fundamental staples of the Seikishidan is its base in Roman-Catholicism, every base has to have a chapel. Where is it..._ After a bit of searching, as well as asking a tired, yet excited lieutenant who was coming down from his post to go to the rest room, Ky was standing in front of the chapel. It was a small building, only about twenty feet across, forty feet deep, small for a chapel on a base of 1500. But, he couldn't expect every soldier on the base to go to church every Sunday.

The two large wooden double doors looked menacing in their twelve-foot-high towering stances, but Ky, simply placing his hand on one of them, moved it with plenty of ease, the hinges well oiled and strong enough to let the heavy doors move like they were made of cotton. Stepping inside, the door creaking shut to its counter part behind, a cool blast of air seemed to envelope him. When he opened the door, no air hit him, but when he stepped in, it seemed to lift him up, and there were no cooling systems inside, and if there was a draft, it would have exited from the pressure difference in opening the door... _Don't think about it, do what you're here to do._ He walked through the center aisle, between two distinct rows of seats, a bible in a small holding box on the back of every seat, each row seating about one hundred, maximum, and even that would be pushing the limits. A reverend of the church, old in his years, hair white and missing, his face wrinkled to the point his eyes were almost covered over, slept in a chair to the side of the central pew, an old rocking chair that looked like an heirloom. He slept silently and deeply, his head off to one side, the spots on his skin, dotting his entire face, exposed more so by his head being turned. Ky smiled a bit at the old man, it was a good thing to see those dedicated to God and those who had lived so long in these times.

Walking up the three small steps that separated the reverend's elevated position over the crowd, Ky walked behind the pew, standing in front of a painted effigy of his savior. The timeless image of Christ in rags and shambles, his head to one side, imploringly, yet determined looking, both hands pegged to the wooden cross. The model was a mock up, painted years ago, the paint rubbing off in places, showing the blank white color underneath the mold. Rows of candles lined the model, wrapping around the base and behind, looping a few layers, spreading out, the small candles, contained in a small glass cup of itself, new wax poured to each cup everyday to keep the eerie small flames burning, the light giving the bottom of Jesus' face a bit of a tectonic gaze, a seriousness unintended. A bit of stained glass lined the walls above the model, the colored panes showing a discombobulated picture, pieces of the glass destroyed in prior years, covered up with sheets of filler, or entirely new pieces of glass uncolored, the image unable to be deciphered as to what it was from the destruction it had sustained in previous years, but its simplistic act of being there in the chapel gave it meaning and reason to be there. The invading light, in hues of random color, shone down onto the shallowly lighted Jesus, around Kiske too, who stood in the partial shadow of the towering statue.

Ky knelt down in front of the image of God, praising the Holy Trinity, his arm doing the motion while his head lowered and eyes shut, slowly making his prayer.

"To you, O Lord, I ask forgiveness for the deeds I have done. No one man could be told the things I have done and said, no minister, no reverend, no pope, only You. So, I come to you in desperation, Lord." he said, eyes closed. Looking up, eyes now open, he looked at Christ for a minute, taking in every bit of his fading features, the decades old statue showing signs of its age with peeling paint and dust sitting on the ridges of the statue's face. "How you must have endured, I do not know..." he whispered, expecting the statue to spring to life, look down at Ky, and tell him all of the answers he needed to know, everything in the world. Instead, the imploring gaze on the painted eyes stared forward even more. Maybe that was the answer, just simplistically looking at him, unable to say anything, but just to do it, live it, do what you could.

"God, I have questions for you. I know it might be blaspheming, but I think it is in just cause..." he sighed, breathing in deeply after, then continued, in a low whisper. "Why?" he simply coughed out. "Why me? Why did the Gears have to be created? Why do the innocents have to die and people like me have to fight to protect them? Could there be a time when no humans had to suffer, where there would be no heroes or fighters for humanity, because humanity was safe, completely shielded from harm from everything? You might say it isn't in our nature, but...damnit, I don't see the point!", his tone rising, elevating in tone and intensity with each word.

"Why do people have to die? In front of me? Their lives ripped from them by your grasp, because of a Gear? Is being killed by a Gear your 'ultimate plan'? Are those killed by Gears even justifiable deaths, and thus you would have their soul, meaning that you _knew_ of Gears, knew _how_ they were to die, and let it happen. I can't understand why you would do that, Lord. I cannot, I will not. I fight for _You,_I fight for humanity, that salvation wasted now, when put up to contrast about what happens."

"Why God, why. I live now, only 16, yet I have killed and survived my fair share, through what I should and should not have, yet other people die for me, saving my life. Does my life mean more than any other? Why is that? I'm not Jesus, I'm not your incarnation, I'm just a man, a boy..." he said, starting to break down upon himself, eyes watering. "I am _not_ the one for these tasks! For this...war and salvation of humanity! How could you choose _me_? There are hundreds upon thousands of people fit for leading the world to victory, those who know battle, can live through it all, and look back victoriously. I...cannot. I see death, I see those dead, and wonder how, _how_ could it happen, how could I let it happen, how could _You_ let it happen."

"And, those dead...you can't bring them back, they're _dead_, and even You, God, will not change that. What about...what about the dead, the ones who will die, died in times past...what about people like Darton?" he said, his emotions flaring now through highs and lows of sadness and despair to anger, tears falling off of his cheeks now in both reverence and compassion. "He wasn't destined to die, he had _not_ lived a life worthy of dying, yet he thought he did, and then he killed himself. I couldn't hold on, I _tried so hard_, yet I couldn't, he still died. He's _dead_, after all of that, surviving so long, fighting hard. He was rude, arrogant, and completely defamed You, but how does that make him different than thousands of others? Yet, through what he did, I saw him for a good person, for someone who deserved to live. He _deserved_ to live, after all of it, he had earned it, even amongst the innocents who did nothing wrong to die, he should have lived. But, there were places where _You_come in, and change all of that, divine intervention crap. Well, it is crap, all this. The death, the constant flood of fighting in the name of God, I don't understand it, how could You let it? How? Why?" he said, putting his arm down to the ground to stabilize him from falling over from his kneeling position. And silently, he cried, tears falling down his face, staining the carpet below him. It had been tread years before, years prior, and would be in the future, his tears nothing but another memento in its history. He sat there, thinking, unable to talk, all of the death, fear, and suffering over whelming him that he had to shove into a dark closet and hide for the past few days. He couldn't take it, he broke. And, he knew God would be the ultimate witness, the closest he had to any sort of family that was always there, so found solace in that.

He slowly stood, wiping his eyes, taking in a deep breath to stabilize jumpy breathing. Looking back up at Christ, the stone cold gaze of simplicity piercing Ky, he nodded slightly, understanding. _It's not the way that things happen, it's not who has to die and who has to live, it's what we must do while we're here, what we have to do before our time comes..._ He stepped backward, looking upon the illuminated Christ once more, then turned, walking down each step slowly, each step monumental in having to store himself back in the confines of his own mind, putting his feelings under wraps, making sure what he saw and witnessed stayed in the realm of a certain serious set of emotions that couldn't be altered or changed, but had to, or he would break, and he would die, he would be cut down, left unprepared, he would be dead. By the end of the three steps, he was completely sealed, back to his normal self, taking one deep breath to make sure, wiping his eyes again. He needed to be in his presentable shape before anyone saw, he had to make sure that he was Ky Kiske, the commander, not the boy. Standing in front of the double doors, he closed his eyes, thinking again, then pushed both open with both hands and walked out, the creak as he exited waking the old reverend, who snapped his head to life, looking around as the doors settled back to being in their previously straight position.

"Odd..." he murmured to himself, looking around again, then going back to sleep.

Ky walked around the complex, coming to the officer's lounge he slept in last night, reaching for the door knob when he was surprised by a voice to his left.

"Punctual, Mr. Kiske." he heard a voice say. Turning to his left, he saw Gestahl walking up. "I was coming to wake you. We must be going very soon to make Geneva before nightfall. It's about six hours from here to there, so we'll make it just past noon, if we're lucky. It seems we're going to have to be taking the MT, too." He said matter-of-factly, neither condescending, but neither boisterous either, just flat.

"And what about the extra soldiers left at Paris?" Ky asked.

"One of the two MTs left will make two trips. And, since each truck had about 180 soldiers each, there was extra room for our A.A.'s. We'll still be making two trips, but I think it is best if we move the A.A.'s out first."

"Fine, as long as no man is left behind." Ky said affirmingly, his mind racing back to Darton, then shaking it out of his mind. He walked past Gestahl to the front of the base, where the MT was still parked. Jaygus was standing by, in an equally white uniform, but not nearly as impressive as Ky's, which was perfectly ironed and as white as the pure clouds, Jaygus' clean, but showing signs of age in the forms of a few stains and a more dull white, but he seemed not to notice.

"We're going to have fun in Geneva, sir." Jaygus said smiling, his words dripping with sarcasm, climbing into the back of the truck, Kiske following. Gestahl stepped in also, two soldiers from the outside shutting the double doors, and Gestahl walking past them as they took seats, him going to the front, where the two drivers were ready and waiting. He also bypassed four soldiers, two privates and two lieutenants, the same ones from before.

"Hello, sir" one said to Ky as he sat down, distracting him.

"Oh, you all again." he said, somewhat derogatorily, but he had not meant to. The soldier was surprised, Ky's morning attire and not being fully awake yet, played a factor in his un-excited attitude. The soldier shut up, turning back to the rest, feeling insulted, but he couldn't do anything; he was a subordinate to a commander. They were sitting about twenty seats down, so about fifty feet down, all talking amongst themselves, the same box from before in front of all of them, two on each side, playing cards in the middle. Ky then remembered the three of hearts, he had forgot that it was in his boot. Reaching down, it was still there. He didn't know why, but he patted it, and left it there, sort of like a memento or a protector.

The MT slowly inched forward, jumping as it moved, the massive weight thrown forward. It slowly gained more speed every second, squealing and yelling with agony like a dying monster as it hurtled itself forward. Ky fell a bit in his seat, then settled back, the slow acceleration, a massive hum echoing through and about from the engine. He could hear the wheels screeching as they were man-handled into turning, making course for Geneva. After a long, slow turn, all the while going forward slowly, the emitting sounds echoes of a Gear's own unholy screams, the MT started to roll forward, going towards its destination. It slowly accelerated faster, finally hitting its top speed around 55 miles per hour, a violent vibration being sent down the length of the truck from the wheels and engine, Kiske's boots shaking around his feet. Gestahl stood firm in the doorway adjoining the two compartments, watching the drivers and the world ahead as it trampled underneath the massive MT.

"What's that, sir?" Jaygus said, his hand lazily pointing at his chest. Ky looked down, seeing the gold cross. Jaygus knew what it was, but that wasn't directly his question. "I've never seen you wear it before."

"Oh..." Ky said, toying with it in his barren fingers. He felt a little scared, not being in his tried-and-true Seikishidan uniform. His hands felt liberated, no gauntlet or gloves to tie them down and secure them, but he also felt a bit barren and naked without the layers of cloth and the other nuances of his uniform he had grown attached to, feeling a motherly embrace in them. Now that he was in different attire, he could tell how much differently he felt when not in them. But, the feel of a nice suit wasn't exactly bad either. "I got it back on Paris on Floor F, when we were searching for items. I came across it."

"So you took it?" he said hesitantly. Ky looked up at him, not liking how Jaygus said those words. _Yes, I took it. The person who owned it is probably dead, but I know it wasn't right to take it, but there's something...some reason why I must have it._

"It reminds me of something." he said delicately, looking down at the cross again, shining slightly against the small lights fixed on the ceiling of the MT in a line, a luminescent strip, cut apart by the sections of the truck, where bolts and clips connected the pieces, the lights ended and started. They were luminescent; a gas inside shot through with electricity, a by-product of the magic engine, and the dull light gave it a bit of an unnatural glare.

"Of what, if I am not rude to ask, sir?" Ky looked back up at Jaygus suddenly, deciding whether or not to tell him. _Should I or shouldn't I tell him? It's deep, and he's only a soldier. No...he's more than a soldier, he's a friend, he's shown that many times over since I was instituted as the commander...but still, I know he has a shady past, with the Krieg and all, and I don't ask him about that._ Ky looked around, side to side, the soldiers playing cards ahead, and both sitting near the double doors in the back. He sighed, taking in a deep breath, thinking.

"It was a long time ago, I had a necklace like this. I..." Ky sat, silent for a second. _Tell him the truth, or don't. Choose._ "I lost it. I had it ever since I can remember, and when I lost it, I was devastated. Seeing this one made me remember it, and I took it. It reminds me of the past, I couldn't leave it." he said, imploring eyes finding solace in Jaygus' pleasant and understanding demeanor. _You're such a liar, Kiske. You know you didn't lose it, you know the truth. And, you didn't tell him why you had it, what it meant to you, all of that. A liar. Shut up._ "Hey, it's early in the morning, and we got a long ride ahead of us. Try and get some rest, I will too." Ky said. "In plus, I know I am not quite recovered yet from Paris, and I bet you aren't either." he said with a friendly smile.

"Indeed, sir. Let's get some rest." Jaygus replied, slowly slipping down lower into the chair, leaning his head against his shoulder, trying to rest. Ky took his initiative, and leaned his head backward, resting the top of his head against the vibrating wall of the truck. _Liar..._

Zeronova's Notes:

If you read the original DG, you might remember a scene when Ky was young. That's the scene here in his past, though I tweaked it, adding in the necklace. For those unaware of the scene, well, you'll learn about it in due time. I like how the characterization is coming. You might say that Arc II is boring, but I like to think that I can put a lot more drama into it. Arc I was totally action, Arc II is drama, and Arc III will be the conclusion, wrapping up everything. I found myself bored with Arc II in the old DG, so this time I am doing my best to give it a lot more life and interesting things. Bianca is proving to be much more fun to write, and an interesting character, as last time, she was flat and useless, a throw in. There will be action in Arc II, but it's later one (for the readers of the original DG, it has to do with a certain other city, already hinted at early in the story). Written July 29th.

Oh yeah, this is the 100k chapter (well, it isn't exactly since I have had some 5k and 5k-chapters, so it didn't exactly all even out), but it is still fairly close, and twenty chapters at roughly 5k equals 100k, get it? Anyway, this is a great landmark to hit. Look, I'm closing in on the original DG. 100,000 words...that's a lot, that's a ton. That is 165 pages of standard margin in Times New Roman point 12 (yes, I figured it in Word). Anyway, up to this point, the story had a base, a real foothold from the first, and from here I venture into unknown territory. Not anymore a remake, but this is now a real story, becoming a real adventure itself to FFN, not a remake of an old one. Thanks to all of my reviewers (Nik Hasta, PWMA, The Hybrid are the main fans, but let's not forget KR2 or Lone Wolf Neo for their very big parts, just kidding, don't kill me, and a side note to TWH for the long review). And, a special thanks to Samuraiter, who has been a good friend in my writing endeavors, as well as a good person to bounce ideas off of, and get ideas from (Tibet's gonna rock, thanks for letting me use Jaygus, and the whole I1/DG series thing). I don't intend on my parents or family seeing this story, but if they do, thanks to them too for letting me be an insomniac, of which times they knew nothing of what I was doing, yet trusted me (I wasn't looking at porn...that much, and my late night ESPN NFL 2k5 rantings at the screen for intercepting me too often). So, one-hundred thousand, that's a big number. The way I see it, this story is going to go over 200k at my current pace, but that's only an estimate, it might just hit 200k. But, I'm happy with how much I have done this far, and how much will come in the future, so thank you, and stay tuned.


	21. Arc 2: If you were there

The afternoon had come on strong in the low mountains. The hills were becoming steep, though not too much, the beginning of the Italian Alps, the lowlands surrounding them, though still more inclined than Paris or most other places Ky had normally been. Once he got out of the truck, he was taken aback by the things he saw.

The U.N. main building was one of three, all lined up next to each other, connected by court yards of beautifully cut stone, walkways, trimmed bushes, green grasses, and exceedingly polished taste. The main buildings all were built in the old style of Greco-Roman architecture, giant columns holding up a rather simplistic roof, at least in the front. Ky took no time to waste, it was already about one, and he knew he'd be here until well after nine. A few U.N. soldiers patrolled the picturesque grounds, armed with sword that were basically Seikishidan issue, though the hilts trimmed, smoothed and a bit different take on the grip, but t was definitely Seikishidan issue, just modified. The soldiers wore a dark blue garb, resembling a suit, but not made of the material Ky knew he wore, though it had its similarities, Gestahl in the same attire, though he had no sword.

He walked past where the MT parked, on a cobblestone walkway, closed in by perfectly trimmed, luscious green grasses and rose bushes. The entire U.N. summit was enclosed by guarded ten foot walls made of old block and cement, not very strong to Gear attack, but putting out the effect of beauty, like the rest of the compound. After getting off of the cobblestone road, he came to a paved cement way, that broadened out and separated to three distinct ways. One to the left, one center, and one to the right. The road left took him to the Internal Affairs building, center to Seikishidan Affairs, and right to External Affairs.

**This is all based on speculation and rumor, considering the U.N. kept a nice tight seal on the exact details of what they did and how they did it, but I have heard enough corroborating evidence from completely unrelated people who had never met to know that this is a fairly accurate representation of the real U.N. Internal Affairs dealt with affairs that happened on the inside of the U.N., obviously. Such as A.A. recruitment and teaching, their operatives and agents, where to send them and at what time, etc. They usually worked in conjunction with the Seikishidan Affairs office, since most Internal Affairs were directly related to the Seikishidan as it were. Though, there were sometimes cases of a rogue officer or a missing in action personnel that was Internal Affairs only, and in most cases, they shrugged their soldiers and moved onto the next matter of business.**

**Seikishidan Affairs was the big house among the three, and rightly so, being situated in the center of the three massive buildings, its size trumping the others. Besides from obviously being the Seikishidan's direct U.N. contact, it was also the main meeting house of all of the U.N. senators from the nations around the world. A few nations which did not exist any more, still had diplomats in the U.N., acting as "gifted personnel with valuable knowledge" in the decisions and things done and said by the U.N. They weren't going to boot out a diplomat because their country did not exist, nor were they accepting many. The U.N. had leadership how they wanted, and sat on their hands from there. Anyway, back on track. Whenever anything happened in the Seikishidan, they would question the soldiers involved, and take direct word-by-word recounts of what happened, save it in some file cabinet in a dark basement never to be seen again. They wanted to know, sitting from their high riser seats, watching everything from that elevated seat of elegance, and occasionally lifting up a soldier they watched over and ask him "What happened?", at which he would respond, and then they'd throw him back down to watch the rest of what would happen. Old literature gave me a real good way to describe this, I hope you understand. Back in the day, they had these theatres where people would perform plays, and there was always a very...large women who sat with a very wealthy man, her acting lubby-dubby with him mostly for money, both obnoxious and needing, so a perfect match. This women would lean over her special booth with a pair of binoculars or glasses, trying vaguely to see what was going on, always asking and interrupting, being outwardly annoying to everyone else who had any idea of even watching the production. That fat woman was the U.N.**

**As for the External Affairs office, this was the slow office, usually new recruits sent here first. They dealt with things that were important, but hardly ever used. Gear movements, weather predictions, economic status of cities and their countries, as well as the current state of affairs in places known to be rather...suspicious, such as the previous United States, which was widely known to be over-run by Gears. There was a small resistance in North America to drive back the Gears, led in part by a team of skilled assassins who grew in number the more they saved. The External Affairs office would keep as many tabs as they could on things and developments such as this, but quite honestly, it didn't matter.**

Ky walked slowly up to the Seikishidan Affairs building, large marble colonnades reaching up sixty feet, attached to a mock of a Greek roof, triangulated with Latin inscribed across the top. _Absit Casus Cunctus...weird.__ I'll have to look it up someday. _The few marble steps stretched outward until they met parallel with the width of the building, a considerable length. The columns were also pure marble, a beautiful sight to behold, though it drove Kiske insane. _How could an organization devoted to the world and the betterment of it be , greedy fools while people die in the world from things like starvation and no protection from Gears? It would be different if they had people actually work for them, but they don't, it's self-contained. U.N. personnel build these things, U.N. personnel do the trimmings, and they gush down funds._ On top of the ten or so steps was about twenty feet of open space, the floor also marble, a few benches and other spices of the architecture before he entered the real building, a normal rectangle that tried to be elegant on the outside, the Greek style only a porch. As he entered, he heard Jaygus come in behind him, then Gestahl walk past both of them, urging them to follow him.

How exactly Ky got there, he didn't know, he got lost in trying to remember earlier. Their first walk down the hall had doors every three feet between the last, leading everywhere, Ky could only imagine. They look a left, then found a long hallway, barren, one doorway at the end, which they opened, faced with a left, right, or center. Ky was lost now, taking the twisting turns and stupid decisions of architecture like a labyrinth. A stair set, then taking a left or a right into a corridor, up a ramp, around a circular set, and finally in front of two tinted glass doors.

"Here we are, gentlemen. The U.N. Summit briefing room. Don't let them scare you, they're just trying to break you, Kiske." he said with a genuine tip in his words, not the U.N. bastard that Ky had expected.

"...Thanks." he said, unaware. Then, Jaygus walked back up the stair set, going in the opposite direction they came in, reassuring them that he would be back to get them when the U.N. Summit told him they were finished.

"And before I forget, they wanted everyone they brought in to go before Ky Kiske, so it looks like you're up first, Jaygus." Jaygus nodded in affirmation, then looked to Ky, smiling, then disappeared behind the very dark glass doors that swiveled inward as he walked through them, his shouldrs brushing them out of his way. Light noises, talking and questioning could be heard inside.

Ky hated the U.N. He had never been here before, but he had heard stories. Also, this was his _first_ time here, and as the commander of the Seikishidan, it wouldn't be an easy thing to get away with. He gazed around, unsure and in a slight fear of what would happen inside, like a child the night before Christmas, except he wasn't in torment for a good reason. Next to the double doors were sets of sofas and nice chairs, accented by large potted plants, shiny walls, perfectly tiled floors, and everything else in a sense of perfection. The stairway was wide at the top, curved inward at the middle, then bellowed outward at the bottom, like a grand staircase from hundreds of years prior, two reflectively shiny railings held up on each side by white poles, wrapping up and around to two corridors on each side. The halls had lights every ten feet build into the ceiling, a comforting white feel about them, but echoed being made off of the fortunes the U.N. had amassed by the median on the walls being made of stained wood, like a handrail, but more there for decoration, accenting molding and ceiling panels. Much different than any other place Kiske had ever been. Even the Seikishidan H.Q. was made from solid concrete, the most eccentric part being the ends of the floors where they wrapped around to meet each other, but besides that, it was relatively plain, even the railings which were three bars horizontal, traveling the length of the floor, held up by one vertical bar, welded to all three, every twenty feet.

A yell came from inside the room, catching Ky off guard. It was only one yell, a simple scream of anger, but from whom he could not ascertain. His attempts t listen in were vain, since only muffled whispers and echoes met his ears. The wait was driving him insane, fidgeting in his chair, getting up and walking around, looking at the elegant U.N. reception hall, thinking to himself, all became mediocre and worthless after a minutes deliberation on each, leaving him with nothing to do. _What's going on in there? What will they do? They can't take the Order from me, the can't. They'll try to, they'll try a plethora of things to try and screw me over, but I won't let them, I can't, not these U.N. dogs. Not the U.N._ He stood and walked over to a secretary who was sitting behind a stained wood desk, a gold-plated pen in her hands jotting over papers. Kiske wasn't aware she was there when he came in, and neither him to she, or if she did know, she didn't show it.

"Excuse me" he said softly, the secretary looking up at him apathetically. She knew he was Ky Kiske, but didn't care. "How long are they going to be in there?"

"Until they are finished with him, then you." she said, looking back down at her papers.

"Excuse me" Ky said more forcefully, her looking back up, the words annoyed plastered across her expression. "What do they do in there?" She rolled her eyes and sighed, then told him.

"They question you, they try and take evidence to pin a reason why it happened, and they want to know the exact events of why they called you here. So, they want to know about the Parisian Headquarters attack. Good luck, sir." her least sentence was dipped in malice and annoyance as she looked back down to her papers, continuing. Ky took a deep breath, then walked away, keeping his temper down.

He paced back and forth waiting, and finally retired to the sofa again, looking at the secretary who seemed oblivious of it all, engulfed in her papers and utterly infatuated with reading and writing all over the documents, her pen scribbling across, her holding it up to examine under a set of thick glasses, then writing more, grabbing another paper from a heap of documents, and doing it all over again. Kiske leaned his head back, sighing with boredom. He closed his eyes, trying to pass time by falling asleep or something like that, he told himself. Slowly, he fell in between the world of awake and asleep, where the events of the world are known and heard, but seem distant, far away, like you're sailing away, halfway dreaming and halfway paying attention, the two lapsing in an unnerving concoction that served to scare Kiske awake, his dreams mulling over the dead and the Gears, both two things he would be asked about and hated.

He knocked himself awake, looking around lazily, rubbing one eye, when a distinct set of footsteps echoed from the darkened room, further blinded by the dark glass door. It slowly opened, the uniform of a red-level sergeant coming out, Third-Class, as signified by the notches on his draping rank indicator between his legs, tucked under the belt, which started at the top of his chest and ran down to his shins, constricted to his waist by the belt, then coming free underneath of it.

"They want you now, sir." Jaygus said, seeming as if there was a sour taste in his mouth, but still polite to Kiske. "They'll try and break you, try and pull the dirty cards. Don't let 'em, Mr. Kiske." he said confidently, his mind elsewhere. Ky nodded, then grabbed the door from Jaygus as he walked to sit where Ky had been seconds before. The solid glass door, half an inch thick and darkly tinted, had a solid brass O going through two holes in the glass, handles protruding on each side to grab, small brass hinges on the edges too, connecting the large glass pane to the wall. He looked back again at Jaygus, who smiled briefly, then disappeared as Kiske walked into the corridor. It was thirty feet long, a wood trimming a waist level, as it had been previously, though the walls were now a crude, reflective metal, like aluminum, that seemed to vibrate the coldness of the U.N.

The walk seemed to only magnify his nervousness, something the U.N. probably planned. He could see only a brief light at the end of the corridor, nothing more. As he neared, more of the scene opened up from the small square he could see out of. Setting foot outside of the corridor, he stood on a half-circle plateau, a railing around with a hand rest to lean upon in the center of the lion's den, the lions facing him. Rows upon rows of U.N. officials sat in a bleak darkness, all eyes bearing down on the central point, the plateau. No real light permeated the room, only dim ceiling lights that cast down rays of eerie amber, caught in the wrinkled skin and foreheads, leaving eyes in darkness, and movements cloaked, a ghastly portrayal of the faces it poorly lit. The faces ranged from a mid 40's, to a lingering grasp on life, the older years where dots on their skin, and wrinkles counted years. **Some of the officials had been in the U.N. so long, their countries no longer existed, and all they had was the U.N. The actual United Nations committee couldn't dismiss them, so kept them onboard as "content advisors", so they still had say in rulings and judging, especially since the U.N. had such little trust for any people, they wanted to keep who they could, and for as long as possible, because finding a replacement would mean finding a new person, untrusted and unsuitable for the U.N., until proving him or herself.**

"State your name" a cold voice said to Ky's left. He couldn't see where, the orchestral like surrounding dome echoing the words in a lingering cacophony.

"Ky Kiske, Commander of the Seikishidan." he said back, his own words bouncing about and around him, like asking "Is this true" to himself, as the words wrapped around him.

"The Parisian Seikishidan Headquarters incident...what do you have to say for yourself?" another cold voice asked, without emotion or a wavering concern, almost robotically.

"Say for myself? We were attacked, ambushed, and few of us survived." he said back, a bit of his temper flaring in the first few sentences. _This is gonna be long..._

"You were attacked. Does that save the..." a flipping of pages echoed past Ky "5600 dead?" **The Seikishidan Headquarters could hold 7000, as I said, but it wasn't full to the brim, and some soldiers were out on missions, other bases, and whatever else. Just like the MTs weren't at the Parisian Headquarters at the time, the cargo bay empty when they ran out to attack the Gears, in the beginning of the story. Anyway...**

"They were not unprepared, they were in the Seikishidan."

"If they were prepared, why did they die?"

"We were not _totally_ prepared." Ky spat back, his voice low and growling.

"Well, tell us your version of the story then. We gathered evidence ourselves at the scene, and we have the sergeant's testimony, so we need yours."

"I don't have to answer you, to incriminate me, so you can try and get me out of the Seikishidan anyway you can." Ky said back menacingly.

"We need to do this for the records, Commander Kiske. Oblige with our requests." the cold voice repeated.

"And if I do not?"

"Then you _will_ be 'out' of the Seikishidan." Ky made a low _tsk _noise, unable of what to do, then finally made up his mind.

"Just because you're the U.N., the power in the world, so to speak, does not mean you can control me. Soldiers follow leaders, not bureaucrats."

"This is turning to be a rehash of the Tiber hearings. Do you know the facts of that case, Mr. Kiske?" the voice sharply said, a stabbing with the frosty words.

"Yes, I know about it." he retorted.

"Well, let's bring it up, just to jog your memory." the cold voice said, a flipping of pages being heard. Ky was becoming irritable, he knew about Tibet, he knew all about the events, but they were trying to grate on him, trying to break him. "Here it is. Kliff led a force of...ten thousand, it says, up the largest mountain, Mount Everest, in the southern Tibet region, where Justice had been confirmed to be. The mission was a success by name, but only twenty one survived, including Kliff. Is that a victory, Mr. Kiske?" Ky stood silent. "Just like you could say that this whole Seikishidan Headquarters incident was a victory because _you_ survived, but is it really, Mr. Kiske?"

"Don't dare try to impugn me on whether or not my life is a factor of victory or not. We were ambushed, many died, but this was not a personal fault, or something to be blamed. You U.N. pigs try and blame me, try to blame anybody, to destroy and pillage through the Seikishidan. You don't know...you're just politicians."

"We're not here to argue politics, we're here to hold an informational meeting."

"Whatever you call this." Ky said, looking around to all of the stone faces looking down at him unrelenting. "Fine, you want the facts for your report?"

"Yes, start at the beginning." an echoing frozen voice responded, no life in the ice covered words. "At the first knowledge of the attack."

"First knowledge?" _The office, the soldier._ "It was...three days ago, early in the morning. Activities started around the base an hour prior, I was at my desk, and a soldier runs in with reports that the inner security perimeter saw Gears. The inner perimeter is at 20 miles from base, a circle perimeter with eight towers each looking one direction, shift changes every 12 hours. The outer perimeter must have been killed, the 50 mile towers, before they could radio in, and the inner perimeters told us, which gave us only about an hour to prepare, no one was ready. I assembled the troops in the cargo room on Floor C where we ran out to meet the Gears."

"You ran out to confront them?" the voice asked with a sharp edge.

"Yes" Ky said, stopping his fluid storytelling. He then coughed, reassumed his story telling, a little hazardous at first, then lapsing into recalling the events as they happened, sort of on another plane of reality, replaying them in his mind and narrating. "Anyway...we met them on the grasses of the Seikishidan Headquarters, where the structure was built into the hill, and they drove us back. Testament, Justice's right hand man was there, and we were driven back into the H.Q. At the back of Floor C, after we were pushed that far, we mounted a resistance, and nine of us survived, including me and Jaygus."

"We made our way back to the cargo bay to get out, but the Gears had destroyed it on their way in. We had killed all of the main force that attacked us at the back of Floor C, but there were still Gears lingering on other floors, outside of the complex, all over that branched off from the main offensive. We thought the only way to get out would be the sky light, since it was pretty well shut on Floor C. We went around to the secret warehouse on the same floor, that was out of service for years. When we got there..." _You're leaving out Darton. Shut up. _"we were attacked from behind by the rest of the Gears, and had to run for the elevator. We got there, lost two men, and got to the top. At the top, we lost two more, and I was knocked out, and got an injury on my back."

"I awoke, and Jaygus had gave me medical attention, sewed up the wound. We moved out, the five of us left, and got to an elevator shaft on Floor E. We pried it open, got inside, and went up to Floor F. From Floor F, we were searching for ways to get out, then a Seikishidan soldier dropped in from the sky light, and we were attacked by the last of the Gears. We lost three men there, me and Jaygus making it out." He stood silent, his words echoing back to him, reassuring himself of the facts and saying exactly what was and wasn't needed. A scribbling of pen was faintly heard, his words being recorded syllable by syllable.

"DO you know any of the names of the deceased?" the cold voice asked after a minutes pause.

"Yes..." Ky trailed off.

"And they are?" the voice said with trepidation.

"Quint Darton" he said stagnantly.

"Any others?" the voice asked coldly, without resolve.

"No."

"You don't know any of the names of the other seven soldiers you spent time with? And how about the hundreds of others dead?"

"I knew some names, but in that state of frenzy, I did not know them. If I could tell you their faces, you'd know. Their deaths are stuck in my minds, their voices, their faces, but a name, I cannot say that. I know names of other soldiers, though I cannot confirm those as K.I.A. or not."

"What leader can not vouch for his soldiers?" the voice said again, level as always.

"I will _not_ let you incriminate me." Ky said with a dull force, one that would be brought down upon that voice with the sheer force of a blunt object if needed, and if anything would hurt more than a blunt object, he would use it.

"We are simply ascertaining the facts."

"You are trying to make me admit to something that is not true, to make me seem like less of a leader, to make me seem somewhat lesser than you think I should be. Guess what, to all of the U.N. Kliff elected me the leader of the Seikishidan, and I am the leader. I know bylaws and everything else, there is nothing you can do about that, until I die, or I resign." He stood defiant, his words spearing everyone of the faces, each of them turning to each other, a low murmur filling the U.N. The cold voice cleared his throat, the large auditorium centered around Kiske suddenly going silent.

"We are not here to make you resign, we"

"That's a lie. That's the U.N.'s job, the Seikishidan Affairs, to pester and destroy what the Seikishidan has in every facet. You want to ascertain the truth? Get on the battlefield, get down their with me and my men, fight the war, instead of sitting here making decisions high and mighty, see where it really happens, where humanity is put on the line every day. Have you ever seen a Gear?" he asked, violence tinged on his words. The room was silent.

"Have you? Ever seen how Justice looks through it, how its eyes roll in its head? Ever had to kill one? Then another? Then a hundred? Don't tell me what to do or when, you don't know, bureaucrats. You don't know." Ky's last words bounced off of the walls in the room, them coming from him without thinking, his true feelings towards the U.N. and his own prejudices coming to life. He stood defiantly, looking over the hundreds of faces looking down at him with a cold resolution, no emotion or changing disposition, just a frozen apathy, but a silence followed his words. While the silence wasn't good, it certainly proved to Ky that his words were being considered and thought about, a mild victory in itself.

"We have your testimony, you are dismissed." the cold voice said with a raptorial bite in his sentence. Ky stood, looked around at the faces once more, hidden in darkness, only shown by small dim slats of light that barely showed anything but outlines of faces, all bearing down like they were swooping vultures, waiting to pick flesh from bone off of Ky, once he broke and died, but he didn't, he fought back and proved to them, the U.N., that he wasn't a child, enough to be broken, or to not put trust in for the Seikishidan. He turned slowly, and walked, each step an accomplishment over the last one, he had won, if even slightly, but he felt better, saying what he felt, and letting the U.N. know, as well as proving to himself that he was ready. _Kliff, you would be proud..._

* * *

"You've been silent, sir, anything wrong?" Jaygus said, arms folded and his body swaying with the ruts in gravel the MT slowly traveled over. Ky looked up, deep in thought, then smiled slightly.

"No...it's just that I'm glad we came today." Jaygus was confused for a second, then shrugged the statement off and tried to rest some more, it was a long ride back to Bordeaux. Ky hadn't talked since they left the U.N. Seikishidan Affairs building. They had gotten into the truck, and it started moving, ten minutes out, Jaygus worked the nerve to ask him, but the answer was odd, so he just thought it better to leave it be.

* * *

"Howdy" a friendly, American voice echoed to Quint. He looked to his left to see an obviously American descended man, taking off a cowboy hat to show a ruffled and curly red-hair, above a friendly smile. He extended out his hand to shake Quint's, but was only given a cold stare. The American then looked at both of his wounded arms, and muttered an "Oh, sorry". He turned over to Bianca, who stood about five feet to Darton's right, and started to speak. "So, this here is your friend? We can fit him. Come this way, partner." he said, turning, nodding to Bianca, and walking forward. Quint followed him, but slowly, so that Bianca could catch up with him, then he leaned over to her.

"What the hell are we doing?" he whispered to her, as to make sure her "friend" wouldn't hear him.

"He has a boat, he'll get us down the Seine until we get picked up by the Neo-Troy external crew."

"Neo-Troy external crew?"

"Yeah, every month they get together a bunch of idiots to go outside the city, gather things it may need, or for personal profit, and they set up pick-up points and times."

"...How? I never heard of this." Quint said hazardously, looking forward to make sure her friend didn't look back at them.

"Of course you didn't, you're Seikishidan." she said teasingly. "We'll get to it later, just let's get there, okay?" she said, looking over to him, his face close to hers from his whispering position. He looked at her for a second, his head still leaned, her looking back, square in the eyes, then he moved back t his walking position. _What the hell...was that a "gazing deeply into each other's eyes?" romantic crap thing. Whatever, let's get to __Troy__, gotta see if some scavenger took my knife, and find a place to get a nice rest. Maybe with her. What's with me all of a sudden? I haven't thought about women like this since...before I joined the Seikishidan, but even then, I had other things on my mind. Oh well, I got time now. Things are different than they were, you don't have to "avenge" your past, or do anything else. You're out of the Seikishidan, going to live a life outside of the rest of the world, maybe it is a good time to find a girl to sit down and settle with. Yeah, right. Just get to __Troy__, then you can decide all the shit you wanna do._

Zeronova's Notes:  
Well, we got the U.N. meeting out of the way, yeehaw. I was always thinking "How am I going to do the U.N. scene and bring it across effectively?" I think I did it pretty well, the reality of the war, and how others don't understand like someone who does on the battlefield. Also, I am trying to add more of a governmental level onto the world of DG, since it is there in GG, and I think it's coming pretty good. And, 105k, I surpassed 100k. Yeehaw again. Oh yeah, remember the Tibet thing I mentioned before? Yeah, it's _real_ big, don't forget it, as well as it being mainly Samuraiter's idea. When it is important, I'll bring it up again, but don't forget it. You may be thinking "What's with Zeronova and Samuraiter?". Well, I am using Jaygus, his idea for Tibet...he will be using Darton, as well as bits of my story in his, they kind of co-exist with one another in the same timeline (fleshing out events in the GG timeline that aren't really told, in fan fiction form, but also a retelling/new view of canon things. Maybe I should dub this something like Fan-Canon...yeah, sure, I'm trying to write a Fan-Canon, heh).


	22. Arc 2: Calm before the storm

The midday sun beat down upon the Seine with an unrelenting heat, that only seamed to bounce off of the cool, blue waters. They seemed unnaturally blue, like they had been tainted with a tear of God, a perfection of azure. **They said that a hundred years ago, it was rotten, a sludge like green. In the time since the old world, the entire civilization of humanity has had to devolve itself, not able to have all of the necessities it had before. Used to have cars for everyone, electricity everywhere, anything you wanted at anytime, technology at everyone's finger tips, no one had to do anything. Since the Gears, humans have had to do what they need to survive, devolving to a lower class of themselves, to what you may call animalistic. Going back to making fires with twig and brush, staying in packs, depending on the bigger to survive, women to bear children to keep the race going. Most places were like that, and a lot also used old principles based on what you needed to do to survive, trying to feign a normal life, but always living in a fearful shadow of a Gear shadow. ****Troy**** was different.**

**Troy was erected somewhere early in the 2120's, built by outcasts of the Seikishidan, and completely separatist of the rest of the world. They built huge walls around their city, keeping out Gears and everyone they didn't want. The city was big enough for the small population that built it, about a hundred people, all families. Most were retired soldiers, as I said, and some were young people who didn't want to go into the Seikishidan, so they helped build this city. Over the years, they've reinforced their walls, and found the limitations of the original walls were too constricting, but building outward would have to destroy the old ones and build new ones, too much of a risk to the security of the now fifteen thousand plus occupants of the city. So, they built upward, the city a massive spiraling upward city.**

**There are also rumors that Troy was a bit more technologically advanced than most other places, due to no threat of Gears, so they could revert to some old ways, some of the older things in lives lost hundreds of years prior. Not only that, but that ****Troy**** dealt with Zepp, who saw them as a ground-base they could trust, as opposed to the rest of the world they hated.**

**You might be asking now, "Who is Zepp?" Let me tell you, simply. Zepp is a floating nation, thirteen-hundred miles long, floating about fifty miles above the ground. It was erected in about 2017, with technology made by magic. Since then, they have expanded outward, the small five-mile plot of Zepp turning into thirteen hundred miles, a large nation in itself. They were very technologically advanced, as most of the world was in 2070, before the Gears. They even had small innovations of their own since then, namely Black Tech, but that's another story. Anyway, they saw the world below as savages and Neanderthals, because of their lack of technology, which was a direct correlation to a hundred year long war, duh. They hated the surface dwellers, except for Troy, who they seemed to help slightly, and only slightly, most of it illegal by Zeppians, but some helping, which is why the city has a bit of technology inside of it that is more advanced than the rest of the world, most of the "advanced technology" not being advanced, but merely that of a hundred years ago, but more than the world had at this time anyway.**

**There's a lot more about ****Troy****, but that's all you should basically know now. The rest I will divulge as it comes to me, but back to Darton, Bianca, and her American friend.**

"So..." Darton said with boredom leaking from his lips.

"Don't be so impatient. You decided to come, so deal with it." Bianca said back.

"Hey, I wasn't complaining. What's wrong with making conversation?" he asked, his eyes implying a shrug his body couldn't do.

"Nothing, just I was resting." she said, looking out of the side of the small boat, her hand trailing to the side in the crystal blue water of the Seine.

"You're irritable..." he mumbled, looking out ahead of him. He could hear nothing except nature, the small rodents in the fields scurrying, insects jumping from stalk of grass to the next, the low rush of water over the rocks underneath. The foliage was over grown, over and around the sides of the Seine. It wasn't so much as green as a garden would be, considering France wasn't as tropical for that, but it had a lot of temperate growth, foot high grass, a few oaks, and the likes. Not a forest in sight, but few littered trees, low lying grass, not much dead though. The atmosphere had been untainted since 2099, when all of the things that humanity still had to ruin its own planet was used in the massive final stand against the Gears, and since then, the planet had time to recover itself, pollution being destroyed and other things, such as nuclear bombs' effects, being recycled through itself, a slight rehash to Eden.

The American sat at the top of the boat, just looking on at where he was going, a long pole in his hands, reaching down to the bottom of the Seine, the bottom never seen. It could have been twenty feet long or a hundred, Quint couldn't tell, but he masterfully reached it down, then up again, lazily propelling them all forward. The boat was a wooden one, arced across, like half of an egg, the half-egg shape framed with one piece running from tip to tip along the bottom, strips of wood arcing horizontally up to the edge, which was about two feet above the water, three wooden planks in the middle to sit on. It was old, the wood rotten in places and water-eaten, but it had been repaired, metal bolts in and through, newer pieces showing their disposition to being in such an old thing. Yet, it floated, it didn't leak, and it did what it was made to do. It was another thing in this war-torn world, old and battered, yet worked because of its simplicity, something the world needed more of, not insanely complicated things, like Gears and "magic" to destroy their lives.

"Hey Bianca, why'd you come back for me?" Quint asked, still looking ahead of the boat along the riverside, the fifty foot expanse from each shore seeming like inches off in the distance. She looked over at him confused, then back up at the river herself, silent for a moment, then speaking.

"When you were down on Floor F, you responded to me saying I was from Troy. When I was going to go, I saw the shit you'd been through, and thought you might want to leave and get out of there, go somewhere else." she said, looking back with a smile.

"Yeah..." he said, trailing off. A slight silence distanced them, the soft paddle of the lengthy stick the American dipped into the waters and pushed the boat further along against the floor of the river, the soft rustling of the waves past the old boat bringing poetry to their words and emotions. "Thanks." he said with a slight smile, looking over at her. She looked back, unable of what to think, then replied.

"Yeah...no problem." Another silence for a minute, the American in front never turning back, just robotically continuing his stroke, somewhat slow, but relaxingly smooth in its procession. "Why did you want to go though?" she finally asked, truthfulness in her voice usually stained with that false sweetness she allured with.

"Why did I want to go...I don't know, it has to do kind of with what happened in the headquarters. And that I was done with the Holy Order, I was done with it all, and why not Neo Troy?"

"You know they don't allow strangers in, especially Seikishidan."

"I would have gotten in." Quint said with a strength.

"Sure...but what happened?" she finally asked, not wanting to hear a surface-skidding answer, but wanted to be submersed in the truth, falling underneath the waves of "why" instead of sailing over.

"...I don't think I should tell you."

"I don't think I could get you into Troy then." she pestered. He looked over at her seriously, her smug grin, knowing she had won, and Darton had to crack, and he had to get into Troy, because he'd have to go back to the Seikishidan, and couldn't get anywhere with his wounds.

"I wanted to get away from the Seikishidan, okay? I had spent five years there, I think, I lost track, maybe six." he said, looking back at her, her looking at him as he told, the American seeming oblivious to everything except the river ahead. "I was sick of it. Sick of the Seikishidan, sick of the war, sick of it all, I wanted to just get away and live somewhere else; I had no more reason, I lost it, nothing to protect, nothing to avenge. It didn't help I was a private for all of my time there, despite being part of many battles, many pivotal ones as well."

"Like what?"

"De La Morte, Hayday, Reintroduction...and Tibet..." he said, looking off, memories of feelings and battles past flooding him, the death of friends and soldiers and they slaying of Gears mixing in a memory of blood. He then blinked a few times, racing his own self back to reality, then leaned over at her, smiling. "I'm through with it, I don't want to be in the Seikishidan anymore. Not much there anymore for me."

"Sounds pretty feasible...I believe you...except for one thing." she said strategically, his confused and amused face asking the question of "What?". "You said you lost something to avenge. What?" Quint smiled slightly, knowing she was perceptive, those words falling out of his own mouth, but he hoped she didn't pick up on them.

"Well, that's a secret. You're good. I'll give you that."

"I still want to know."

"How about some other time." he said, trying to brush off the thought.

"How about now." He looked at her for a minute, thinking, then found words to brush off the conversation.

"You said earlier I owe you a drink or something in Troy?"

"Yeah..."

"How about I tell you when I buy you that drink."

"Ha, you're good." she said, a bit of an equal retort, using his words before. She smiled back at him, with a reciprocated glance.

"Guess to find out you'll have to get me into Troy."

"What makes you think I care enough?" she said flirtatiously.

"Because you asked and you brought me this far. You wanted to know, using Troy as a block against me. Come on, Bianca, you're not that mysterious."

"Oh?" she said, feigning pain. "You figured me out. It hurts..." she said, turning her vapid act of hurt to a smile. "Alright, Mr. Darton, I'll see your secret over a drink, though let me tell you, it'll be quite a few. I like to drink." she said, a bit of a hint on her tongue as to an attraction, though she was overly flirtatious about everything, so Quint was dumbfounded by her anyway, but he couldn't deny he liked her. She was clever, and her constantly changing mood and acts, which were all mainly just eccentricities, was something that kept Darton amused, though made him question if she ever could be entirely serious. _Doesn't matter for now, maybe another time. If she could be serious, eh? Serious...odd word to put the situation. Oh well, she's interested, that's a sign, I guess. Showing a reciprocation, I should. Eh, don't push it, too much shit to get through and do before. Get to __Troy__, just get to __Troy__, then you can fool around all you want. But, you're basically home free anyway, what's the big deal? Shut up, wait till you're in __Troy_

* * *

"He's back" Sol said slowly, one arm draped across the front of the bar counter, the other a beer in hand, which he finished off, dropping the bottle to the counter, where it rolled around, finally falling off the side and splintering on the ground into a thousand pieces. Two soldiers on each side of him were turned opposite of Sol, talking to others, completely leaving him isolated, but when Sol talked, those who could hear him listened. They all heard what he muttered, thought for a second, and instantly stood, getting together and leaving orderly, as if not to alert anyone else. "Goddamn soldiers always wanna impress the leader." he mumbled again, the empty seats being filled by other willing soldiers, in place of the few who heard Sol.

"Another beer" he said to the man behind the serving line, converted to a bar at night, the small stools being brought out by soldiers who were there first, stowed at night by those last to leave. The man handed him another bottle, which Sol grabbed away, flicking off the metallic top securely fastened with his thumb like it were paper, and drinking more. Outside of the soldier cafeteria, about three hundred yards away, the gates of the circular Seikishidan base at Bordeaux opening slowly, the soldiers on guard duty grabbing the ropes of them, attaches at hinges, and pulled them open for the MT to ride in smoothly. It stopped in front end first this time, not bothering to turn itself around like it had last time Kiske was here.

The hydraulic doors slowly flipped themselves down, the back double doors left closed, because they were more trouble than they were worth to open and close, so Jaygus and Kiske just filed out of it from one of the doors positioned at the twenty-five soldier intervals. They had to walk along the length of the MT before they found themselves at the open gates, then stepped in, the top of the MT barely inside the base. They could see the drivers had already gotten out, and were headed towards the bar. Kiske rolled his neck slightly, the bones popping into place from an awkward sleep on his own shoulder inside of the truck.

Passing the two soldiers headed to the bar were about ten soldiers hustling to the front gates of the base. Kiske knew they were coming to him, so he stood for a second thinking, Jaygus next to him equally silent. Within a minute, they were in front of him, panting slightly from their run, the highest ranking officer saluting Kiske.

"Sergeant Michael Rivarez reporting, sir. Anything you need?" he said, the few lieutenants and privates behind him standing at attention, their gazes slightly above Ky's head not looking him in the eyes. Ky wasn't in the mood for soldiers trying to suck up, so he dealed with the situation accordingly.

"Sergeant" he said, looking at the soldier who kept his eyes plastered above Kiske, like he was transfixed on an apparatus above his head, a halo, maybe. "Just leave me be. Dismissed." The soldier did an end salute, turned, and walked back off to the bar, whispers among him and his men about what Kiske's problem was. Ky turned to Jaygus who stood next to him completely unfazed.

"A bit rude, sir?"

"I'm just not in the mood, Jaygus." he said with a sigh, walking forward. "The whole U.N. day really grated on me, as well as the ride." He took a few more steps forward before he heard his name, though not from Jaygus at his side. He turned, to see Gestahl standing, his U.N. suit impeccable, motioning for him.

"Did you forget so soon, Mr. Kiske? We have Lyon to attend to."

"Oh, yeah." Ky said, the words jostling it in his mind. "Well, we gonna brief now or what?"

"We _are_ going to brief you and the troops, Mr. Kiske, so let's get to it." he said, walking past him, towards the dim lights filtering from the noisy cafeteria-turned-bar-at-sundown. Gestahl turned as he walked, his old body not as limber as he'd like, a little bit of pain concealing itself from his face as he handed Ky a small stack of papers.

"Names?" Ky asked, flipping through the pages, following Gestahl.

"Yes, the soldiers sanctioned to accompany you on this mission. We're going to go round them up." A few hundred yards later, the double doors of the bar swung open, Gestahl stepping in, both hands fastened to each other behind his back, surveying. The room, which only held 500, was packed with nearly 1500, all laughing, drinking, having a good time in the bar. Cards were strewn about, soldiers arm wrestling, some smoking, just hanging out with each other. It was good to keep levity in such a serious place, in serious times, because all of the death and life taken from the war had to be in some ways replenished, the shot-glass of vitality was drank from by the wars, and had to be refilled by the soldiers, by the rest of humanity, lest the glass go empty and crack, of which it could hold no more liquor in it.

Ky and Jaygus entered behind Gestahl, Ky brushing past Gestahl, feeling something heavy in his pocket as he did. _The shiny thing..._ The room instantly got silent, the feeling of Kiske near shooting through the crowd until they all were silent and looking. Ky pivoted his head, looking at the soldiers faces, all reflecting back at him, some looking him straight in the eyes, unintentionally, but him not caring.

"Tomorrow we launch a mission to recapture Lyon. I have a list here of..." Ky read the top of the list, which had an exact number of names on the list "554 soldiers that will be on the trip tomorrow, the other 46 slots will be U.N. officials and A.A.'s." The soldiers seemed to burst to life by the mention of A.A.'s, snickering and joking, shutting up at the first decibel of noise from Kiske. "Starting with commanding officers of the three factions going. Sergeant Michael Rivarez, Sergeant..." the list trailed on, going through the names of three fourth-level sergeants who would lead groups of roughly 200 a piece into Lyon, as much as a MT, ironically. Then, the list filtered through to lieutenants and privates. Each mention of a name was instantly reacted with the soldier in question standing up, ecstatic to be on the mission with Ky Kiske, or instantly sick to their stomach, not wanting to fight. Others stood and just simply stood, not caring, already battle scared enough and grizzled to think "Oh, another mission, alright." By the end of the list, and about thirty minutes later, the room had 553 soldiers standing up, the last name on the list not wanting to be read.

Ky looked around at all of the soldiers standing, then nodded his head, and started to walk out. Gestahl stopped Ky, his arm extending out to gently grab him. Ky looked over angrily at the U.N. official, who only shot him back a glance of "Aren't you forgetting something?".

"Let me go, Gestahl." he said, walking past. Then, the soldiers rustled through the crowd of soldiers sitting around, to file out of the room behind Kiske.

"There is one more soldier here that was not named." Gestahl shouted over the instant rush of soldiers and sound, all going deaf again. Ky turned, looking at Gestahl angrily, knowing he would say it. "Sol Badguy" he said, a murmur pulsating through the crowd. A loud thud was heard as a final beer bottle clanked against the counter of the bar, which served as a tray run for the normal cafeteria hours. Sol stood up, still looking at the bar tender who seemed to vibrate fear as the massive man stood up, towering over at a little over six feet, his massive muscles and size seeming to emanate his prowess of fury.

"Yeah...I'm here." he said, turning, his grizzly voice lined in a sarcasm echoing in the silent cafeteria. He took a few steps forward his sword trailing along the ground as he did, though securely in his grip. The tip flitted across the ground in a _tink-tink-tink_ noise, which was amplified by the pure nothingness in the area. Small lines of flame seemed to spew out of where the blade touched the ground, rising out an inch or two high from the cement, and dying down, leaving no trace as to their existence, the trail a consistent six inches behind the sword, every inch further of the sword, the trail dying an inch behind and making up an inch forward. The flames were small, produced by the sword itself, but neither burning on a source or leaving any indignation they ever existed, a "magical" flame, in both ways of its mysteriousness and flat-out honesty.

The man's footsteps seemed to clear a pathway, soldiers moving out of the way of the man who's glare sent them out of the way. They all learned before not to screw with Sol, and they had an ample respect for him, which was mostly fear, except for those uneducated and Ky Kiske. He stopped in front of Gestahl, Ky next to him, bringing one hand up to his neck, and cranking it one way, a loud pop emitting.

"Yeah?" he said sarcastically, looking directly at Ky who turned to face him.

"Seems the U.N. knew you were here and wants you on the mission." Ky said disdainfully.

"Seems that way. What if I say no?"

"Better for me. Soldiers, let's go." he said, trying to take another step forward, but Sol's massive strength latching to one of his shoulders, and whipping him around to face Sol.

"I said 'what if'." Sol smirked.

"Fine, don't miss briefing, let's go." Ky said, his lip curling up in disgust in a very uncontrolled way, a second-nature thing he did to those he hated. Sol looked back at the soldiers who seemed frozen.

"You heard the man, briefing time." he said, ndoding his head, and walking out.

**You may think "Sol is doing what Ky said, helping? What is this!". Well, maybe I haven't clarified or given enough depth to Sol. He is a very interesting person, that's for sure, as well as a bit of a shady one at that, not entirely a "person" you'd want to meet. But, I get ahead of myself. Sol's background is relatively unknown, though he was a bounty hunter before he was asked to join the Seikishidan. He was asked to join as Kliff's last request to Ky before he retired, so Kiske had him recruited. I told this story before, and a few months after, he left with one of the Seikishidan's artifacts, the Fuurenken, Fire Seal, an opposite of Kiske's Fuuraiken, Thunder Seal. Since then, he's just kind of floated around, taking bounties and what not, obviously just sitting around at Bordeaux. Though, he was unafraid of the Seikishidan or bounties on himself, since simply, he didn't need to care. He was more than formidable in every area, and a bit crazy to boot, not a good combination. Anyway...**

The soldiers filed out of the cafeteria, leaving it seemingly empty from the five-hundred-fifty-four man deficit, though still over packed at a capacity excess of five hundred more, but was noticeably more empty. They all followed Kiske across the court yard, a few hundred meters of them pacing in silence, only their footsteps as noises in the pale moonlight. The ground was mostly devoid of life, paced over and the dirt packed to a cement-like hardness inside the walls of the Seikishidan Bordeaux base. Though, a humid air had settled on the area the past few days, leaving the hard ground a bit more wet than normal, their boots plodding through with a noticeable squeak of the treads into the rough cement, the equally rough magic by-product type of rubber. Across the base lie the briefing room, which was also an instructional room at the same time, when not in use for missions, it was an instructional place for teachings on new combat manuevers, new survival guidelines, everything that a Seikishidan soldier needed to know to keep themselves alive and use what they had, and get what they needed.

The room was small, though the five hundred and fifty four piled in, standing in tight rows across the sixty foot by forty foot room, each row packed with soldiers, in front and in back. Their breaths mingled, no real privacy to themselves, but they devoted their attention to the front, where the Lyon briefing was. Ky stood at the front with Gestahl, Ky like one of the Seikishidan soldiers himself watching the briefing. **Ky knew about Lyon, I even hinted at it early in the story, when he was in his office, but for those who forget, here's the briefing.**

Gestahl stood in front of the soldiers, eyes transfixed on him and Ky, the legions of eyes on both, shifting back and forth, then he cleared his throat, his old voice showing signs of wear and tear. The soldiers snapped to full attention, eyes slightly above Gestahl's head.

"Soldiers of the Holy Order..." he said, looking around, the standard briefing procedure being followed. "We currently have a situation in Lyon, France, that requires we take drastic action. The situation is actually quite simple. Three weeks ago, the city was over run with Gears, they slaughtered every body and left the city a ghost of itself, a dead hole filled with Gears. We suspect the previous Parisian Seikishidan Headquarters attack to have been staged from Lyon, a central hub of the Gears right now. This is bad, though. They have a base inside of our safe zone, we need to eliminate that, or they will eliminate us." Each word he spoke, he took in the reactions of the soldiers who tried to stay statue-esque, but their feelings could be seen underneath. Some were ecstatic for a mission, ready for action, others seemed sad, afraid of the battle and death coming up, others apathetic, just waiting for it. Sol stood at the front of the room, leaning against a wall, somehow away from the packed Seikishidan soldiers, on his own terms.

"We're going to take three MTs, separate into three teams lead by the three sergeants designated before. Each time has an objective. Our primary goal is simple: eradication of the Gear threat in Lyon. Do you get me?"

"We get you, sir!" the soldiers said in a ensemble voice, very cold and decisive, yet an underlying warmth, their emotions portrayed in each and every rhythmic voice in that sentence.

"Insertion point is the sewer ducts outside of the city from hundreds of years past. They still work, so the Lyon folk decided 'Why change it?'. Well, we're going to be going through them. There are tree main branching tunnels from the main entrance" he said, pointing his hand to a large picture of it in the front of the room, a blueprint that had been ruffled from years of use, made decades past, courtesy of the U.N., of course. "We have three teams, Alpha, Bravo, and Charlie, each to a tunnel, starting left, going right, you'll get who is each." Gestahl said sternly, the soldiers nodding in affirmation.

"Each team has an entrance point that will be designated to be reached by each sergeant, from there, set up a station of operation, and proceed to the center of the city, located here." Gestahl motioned, flipping the blueprint to another view of the entire city. "When here, we will stage an effective attack on the Gears who threaten us. If you encounter any resistance before getting to the center, you will each be given a flair gun, equipped with one flair, shoot it up, and the other two teams will proceed to their best ability to help, if they are not caught up. Do _not_ lose the flair gun, you will be returning it after the mission back to the U.N. These are not toys, they are relics, and only put to use in dire times. You lose or break one of them, and consider yourself dead, you and your entire team." A few soldier swallowed, a bit scared, others not willing to place that responsibilities with someone else, putting their lives in someone else's hands.

"After the Gear threat is disposed of, U.N. will come in from their points outside of the city at the aqueducts, complete with A.A.'s to tend to wounded, and set up a base of operations in Lyon to start rebuilding the city, and if it is unsalvageable, then at least we took out the Gears, and we have isolated them out of Western Europe. We don't need another attack like the Parisian headquarters raid or another city like Lyon to fall. Our Lyon Seikishidan branch also was demolished, so keep in mind we're not just liberating a city full of victims, but also of soldiers. We leave at oh-eight-hundred tomorrow, be up and be ready, soldiers. Dismissed."

They each saluted, turned to their right, and filed out, one row at a time, without being told or asked. After about five minutes, they were all gone, only Kiske and Gestahl left in the room, though Sol was standing over in the corner as he had been the entire time, neither aware. A light crackling sound emitted the room, then the burning of a cigarette, the purple smoke clouding to the top, hitting the ceiling and pluming out to the edges, dying amongst the clear air, it's lavender rebellion ripped to shreds among the oxygen.

"Great plan, U.N. guy" he said with a smirk. "You do realize we're gonna get flanked the second we get in that city? It's _infested_ with Gears. This is suicide."

"And you said you'd go." Kiske answered for Gestahl. Sol shrugged, bringing the cigarette to his mouth again, inhaling, then blowing out a deep cloud.

"Yeah, I like them kind of odds though. Do you, boy?" he said, throwing the butt of the cigarette to the ground inside the room, then walking out into the night.

Zeronova's Notes:  
Well, here we are, at the Lyon battle scene. Yeehaw, right? Lyon was a little bit of an afterthought last time through, now it is full blown, and I intend to make it worth remembering. It won't be 75k like the Seikishidan H.Q. was, but it'll be substantial. Though, I will dedicate the next few chapters to Quint and Bianca, hopefully. I have a lot I haven't done yet with their relationship that I could. Anyway, calm before the storm, eh? This is DG, baby. This is the meat of it.


	23. Arc 2: Riding salvation

The boat hit the soft, moss covered banks of the Seine, nudging its wooden tip into the moist ground slightly. The American stepped out, leaning the pole to the side of the boat, then securing it with a small rope to the side, which was wrapped through a rusted metallic hoop. The other two stood up slowly, stepping out of the boat as well, Darton almost tripped over himself, not fully recuperated, strength wise. His left arm was still useless, and his right's wound was securely packed and stitched, though it still hurt. His few scrapes and bruises over his entire body were slowly healing, not much of a problem or a hinder, but simply there left him with the thoughts of how and why he got them, more so than what he would do in the future about them. He seemed to dwell on things in the past, as Bianca noticed, as well as Darton knowing it true to himself.

His Seikishidan issue boot squished in-between the wet mud, leaving a print of it in the wake of when he walked forward, still wearing his Seikishidan outfit, though it was not _his_. When they rescued him, they stripped him while he was sedated, and outfitted him with a new First Class Private uniform, the lowest rank (Fourth Class was the highest class before a new promotion). The green trim and black notch on the cloth hanging between his legs was vibrant, the verdant color showing no signs of wear, no blood stains, no wrinkles and rips of years use. The white of the outfit was pure and clean, no smudges, no rips, no splashes of dried Gear crimson, and it was also starched, feeling nice to wear, and a bit stiff, but in that good way.

"Well, now what?" Darton asked, stretching a little.

"Now we get to Troy." Bianca responded.

"...How? We're still a few kilometers off. I don't know much about Troy, but I know it is on the French-Italian Border.

"Didn't I tell you? The pick-up crew is going to swing by and get us."

"Okay..." Darton said hesitantly, looking around to the barren plains, no life on them, except for the untended grass reaching knee high. "Uh...how?" he stifled out a question. Bianca turned to him, putting her hands on her hips, and sighed.

"Jeez, you always wanna know, always questioning. A little Doubting Thomas." she said with a false sense of disgust, instantly replaced with the warm smile she seemed willing to make for about anything. Quint couldn't help but find himself smiling back, the warmth of it filling a void he had missed for so long, since that day, and then the Seikishidan...

His thoughts were cut short by a low, thunderous rumbling. It was a clear early afternoon, the morning slowly transitioning to a brisk afternoon, fairly warm, a light breeze, and a clear sky, standard good French weather, a bit on the light humid side, as the normal weather allowed. The rumbling only got louder, his head looking across. The other side of the Seine had nothing on it, and the end of the river was seen a few hundred yards down, where the flow stopped and broke into a large jaw of rocks, splitting with weeds and growth untended, the water coming to a small stand still, a pond forming around the end of the rather large river, the ground around it moist and swamp like. Not many people had traversed this area in the past hundred years, the wildlife and foliage allowed to take over and grow, civilization razed, making way for cousins of Eden.

"Here it comes" Bianca whispered, her voice cut off by the dull thunder. It got louder every second, every moment the thunder filling more of their ears, until finally, it was on top of them. Low squeaks of mechanics and pressurized air blew out of the tires, rolling the giant truck to a stop.

"What the hell...an MT?" Quint said, a bit dumbfounded. Bianca knocked on the side panel cut out, the hydraulics lifting it down seconds later.

"Yeah, duh. You think the Seikishidan's the only lucky ones to get some technology?" She shook her head in a disappointment, a smile twanging at her lips as she did. She liked to joke, as well as act, her thespian moments broken by smiles and laughter, unable to hold herself in to her faux emotions, which served as humor for herself, and for those who weren't serious enough to be above it. "Nah, truth of the matter, this ain't a MT, close though, damn close. Got this little sucker, well, some materials and blue prints, from our friends in the sky" she said, pointing up.

"...Zepp?" Quint asked hazardly.

"Yeah, Zepp, who else? God? Pff, yeah, he'd _definitely_ help us build a MT. Get yer ass on before you get yer ass left." she said, walking up the small doorway platform that had arced down from its locked position on the side paneling of the false MT and dug its heavy metallic edge into the soft ground. Quint walked up the side, small slats of metal extending out for foot grasp, just like a MT. After he walked in, he recognized the scenery. Hundred seats, each side, small hydraulic doors, folding up into the side frame of the truck, like the one he just walked up, every twenty-five seats, two drivers up front.

Before he could sit down, he was pushed out of the way by Bianca, who took a step outside, her head peering through the open doorway.

"Thanks Garth! Next month, I'll pay you a nice sum for all your help, but you be here, and you be on time!" The American tipped his cowboy hat, then pushed off of the bank, turning his boat, and headed back upstream in the small wooden skiff. Bianca took a step backward as the door closed upward in front of her, the hydraulics hissing and a few holes on the ground by the door emitted a small puff of air, as Quit could feel rustle across the cloth covering his ankles. Bianca found a seat not far from the door, Quint sitting down next to her. He surveyed the length of the truck, it being about half full. Ranging from old men to young children, the truck was full of people, sitting by objects they had found, holding them, small purses with items, kids running down the small aisle yelling and playing, all inhabitants of Troy that came out for the external excursion.

The door shut with a loud thud as the sides sealed into the frame of the fake MT, the slow thump of it throwing itself forward, a thunderous roar from the engine deafening everyone inside. A few children ran by Quint, playfully, playing tag or something, he surmised. A few minutes later, he could see the mother ahead, on the opposite side and thirty seats to his left calling them back, at which they could see her calling, though not hear. On their way back, one of them kicked Darton in the foot, and kept going, not caring or minding, in his own world of childish euphoria.

"Damn kids..." he mumbled to no one but himself, since no one else could hear from the massive noise blasting through the huge length of the MT. A few people gave him awkward looks, due to his Seikishidan uniform, but he just stared them right back with cold eyes, and eventually, they turned away to whatever it was they were doing on the confines of the MT. Sorting through found items, stowing away what they'd need, checking themselves if they had left anything, it was rather full, despite the number of people being only about half of full capacity. The people seemed to be mixed with a ragged clothing to a sort of mildly up kept demeanor, from old suits kept nice, to tattered rags, soiled from years without wash and neglect of the fabric.

They looked odd together, Quint sitting in a brand new, starched Seikishidan first-class private uniform, left arm in sling, right hurting under the surface. He had a few bruises and minor cuts all over his torso, arms, and legs, though those required nothing more than a few days to heal and scab over. Next to him sat Bianca in a perfect looking A.A. uniform, white and new, no stains of blood, no marks of grass or dirt, every piece of the nurse-like uniform in top shape. They looked a bit like a costume ball couple, coming as the soldier and the medic. They might of well expected a large amicable lady to walk up dressed as Justice and hand out drinks.

Quint reached down to look at his leg for a second, knowing he didn't break the skin, but maybe a bruise when his hand brushed against something under the seat. He reached lower, straining against the twinges of pain shooting through him from moving his arms, and grabbed the object. He brought it out and up, sitting on his lap, and extending over Bianca's too, who sat with her head looking off in another direction, unaware and uncaring. The weight of an object on her lap instantly shook her from her day dreaming. Before she could respond, Quint unraveled one side of it, the object flipping over itself in wrap, then revealing what it was.

He slowly removed the top layer of cloth wrapped around it and saw a reflection of himself in the metallic surface of the blade. He turned to Bianca, one eyebrow raised.

"And what were you going to do with this?"

"Uh...sell it?" she said with a slight laugh that died out under Darton's seriousness.

"Think again."

"Come on...what else have I got from this excursion then?" she said, pouting. Darton sat back for a second, thinking, rubbing his right hand over the cloth, shining the blade a little, then he leaned forward again, looking her in the eyes.

"I know." he said mysteriously. With his left arm in sling, he slowly curled the fingers, like a _come here_ sign. She leaned to him, turning her head to hear his whisper. "You got me." She shot back, looking at him like he had said something insane. He smiled back, then looked down at his sword, wrapping the cloth over it again, lifting it up, and leaning it on the side of him, the tip on the floor of the MT, and the grip up by his shoulder so he could lean a little.

_This guy is arrogant, and always asking questions. Jeez, so freaking irritable too. But, he's got some kind of odd charm about him, knows when to say something, but also, he has a terrible timing of when to say things, like he hasn't got a damn dime of sense. Eh, I like that, I guess, he's not perfect, he's a bit more real than the perfect people you see and hear about, like Ky Kiske. And, he actually came with me. I didn't think he would, when I went that night, I was going on whim. I told myself it was a waste of time, he was just a little bit out of his mind on Floor A, he doesn't know what he's doing, but I went back and asked him. I took a chance, took a risk, and he said he'd come. I don't know why or how, but I'm glad he said yes, I'm glad he said he would come to __Troy__. Damn him, I guess, it was his face when I saw him. When I saw him on Floor A in pain and agony, I couldn't get his face out of my head that night. I tried leaving, even got right up near Jack, but I turned around, I turned back to get him, I don't know why...I don't know why, but I am glad. He's...worth it, I guess. _

* * *

The bumpy ride with the unignorable noise took about eight to nine hours, getting from the Seine river to the French-Italian border where Neo-Troy was built. They had to take a detour to avoid Lyon, which was swarming with Gears. If they even caught a wiff of the humans coming by, the convoy would have been ravaged and destroyed, every last one of them killed. A ride that would have taken five hours took nine because of the detour, but Quint slept through it all, somehow. Bianca couldn't help but find herself awake, as she was every time the truck returned to Troy. Every other time her mind was on her findings, what she could sell it for, what she could buy, but this time, it wasn't. She had nothing to sell, nothing to buy with the money she didn't have, she only had Quint, and no body would by an ex-Seikishidan private, she thought.

Small slats in the arcing of the roof of the MT, made of an inch think plexi-glass showed the dimming light, the golden rectangles of invading light turning amber, then purple, then a dark hue of black and silver, as to the point the on-board lighting lit up, small lights in a line on the top of the ceiling in dead center, casting an eerie yellow glow that was unnatural and discomforting. She looked around, seeing children sleeping in their seats, tired of the day, parents watching over children, looking at collected items, ranging from scrap metal to relics of a world gone by, looking to sell them for profit. _Quint was looking for a knife, wonder if anyone found one. Eh, I'll look in the shops in __Troy__, no reason to get in people's business._ She couldn't sleep, the noise was too much, as well as her thoughts simply devouring her.

_Why ain't you sleeping, girl? What's the problem? You got that knight next to you on your mind? What's the big deal, he's a Seikishidan, you meet many of them, you sew a whole hell of a lot of them up too, big deal. You even got to see the great Ky Kiske, how's that for a trip? Alright, well, what's the problem? You're still thinking about him, eh? Quint Darton, he said his full name was. Why you so stuck on him? He's cute, sure, but most Seikishidan are, considering they don't gain much weight from all the fighting and training, so they're all in shape, and you got a good pick from there. Is it because he simply came with you? He put trust in you and actually followed you, is that it? No, I know what it is, I know why...it's simple really, because you needed somebody. You need somebody there, to fill a void in your life. The orphan card left you kind of alone, I know, but there are other things in the world besides finding another person. You've had no luck thus far, but you've kept your chin up, why stop now? Or, do you not want to have to hold your chin up anymore? Let someone else do it for you? So, he came with you, so you think that he might be something for you, eh? I can see why, he did something big, left the Seikishidan on a moments notice, to go with you. Maybe that's why, maybe that's why, but you got time, you got weeks, months, years to get to know him. In plus, he's been through hell and still ticking, so why not let the guy have some time, some peace of mind? You can know everything about him some other time, and he to you, but for now, you should take his lead, and sleep. Go on, just go, I won't tell anybody._

**Well, here I am again, your friendly author. I'm going to add a little bit in here. It seems some of you could think "Where did this girl get thrown in here for? What reason? What aim? Just to have a female in the story, a love part of it? That's not so true, and for many reasons. Come to the end of the story, and you'll see every character is relevant and important, and nothing is just there for the hell of it, which some may think this is. As I said, I am retelling a story that deserves to be known and told, and this is part of it, not part of my authorly intervention and license to change and add things as per my writing it, but this, Bianca, Quint, Ky, Gestahl, Sol, Justice, Testament...all of it, it happened. Exact events, maybe not, but the overall feel, life of it, happened. No denying or walking around it, that it happened. How...is it up to you, but this is the way I think it did, and that I know that in the end, the transpired events and things which happened a year past in 2174, these are them. **

**Yet, you could question my story telling, what happens, the final aim and the characters involved, since you might have known them, shown them to be different than how I portray or believed them, and in that regard, you, my reader, are allowed to argue and think differently, though the ultimate aim and procession of the story cannot be changed or argued, for in the end, what matters? The little details, how he walked, what he said, or what he did, how he fought, how he lived, how he died, what his past was? Define for yourself what really matters in story, the exact details, or really what happened? And with that in mind, you, my devoted reader, as you must be to still be reading this far, must see and know this, having seen it yourself. So, these things, like Bianca, her feelings, and every other part of the story may be small in the overall picture, but the big things that happen, those matter, but without small events, without the building bricks of a building, how do you reach a conclusion, a tenth story on a building?**

She sighed deeply, thinking further, her own special conscious guiding and telling her. Through her years, she found that the best person to talk to or to be with was none other than herself, simply. No other person knew her better, knew how to talk to her, knew how to get inside of her thoughts, than her, so she solved her own problems and made way with what she could, herself. She let out a deep breath and scooted to her left in her seat, closer to Quint. His left arm, held up by sling and the grip of his sword tucked underneath his arm, his right cut, but sewed, found way as a small pillow for Bianca. She crossed her arms, and slowly laid her head upon Quint's right arm and shoulder, as best she could. She tried closing her eyes and sleeping, but ended up spending more time with her own self inside of her mind.

When her head touched Darton's arm, he awoke, a sense of pain shooting through him, enthralling him to emergency, a bit of adrenaline in his blood as his body remained calm, his senses still trying to catch up. Looking around, he realized where he was, looking down at his arm, he saw the top of Bianca's head, and started to relax. He didn't want to move to wake her, or move her.

_Look at that, she's leaning on me. Ain't that sweet. I think Neo-Troy will be a pretty nice place, going as it is currently. Just...let her lie there, even if it hurts, you owe her a little, for taking you to Troy, considering without her divine intervention, where the hell would you be right now? Back at the Seikishidan camps, getting treated, waiting to go back into service. Yeah, you quit, but that doesn't mean anything, where would you go? What would you do? No...you'd be right there, back under private, fighting those tough missions and getting nothing, fighting to live and getting nothing for it but another day to wake up to. It'll be different here, I don't have to struggle and work for what I need, I can simply live, and do so without fear of anything to do in the back of my mind, I can live free. I let that go, I thought I did, hell, I made that decision, I...I punched Ky's hands, I made him let me go, I made myself die. Did I do it for him...hardly. I did it for myself. After that, after something like what happened...I did it for myself. I don't think I could have gone on after that moment, after what happened. What would life be like? Living under Ky Kiske then, after what I had said and done? I would have retired to some old city somewhere, unable to live, and slaughtered by a Gear one day. Or, back to the Seikishidan, fighting everyday again. I was supposed to die, I fell off, but he stopped it, he got in the way of God's plan for me, but I had to change it, I did it. I let those things go that haunted me, I could now, it was over, I no longer needed to really let them bear down on me and consume me. My hatred and my vengefulness had seceded, I had no more use for it, nothing to really do with it...I could die without worry or things left on my conscious, and I should have...I should have, damnit! But...now, things are different, it's changed. I got something new to live for, and I'm already "dead", right? I can start new, in a new city, with a new person, put that behind me and do something with my life, outside of the Seikishidan, outside of the revenge, outside of it all, start a new life, just something new...with her..._

Suddenly, they were both thrown out of their seats slightly, the entire MT jumping to a stop, people slamming up against the next seat next to them, items going flying by the sudden stop. Quint's sword fell to the ground, clanging in the covering cloth, and his shoulder taking the brunt of the force as he fell. He grunted in pain as the shattered collarbone seemed to make the pain livid, burning and pulsating, but he stood, a bit woozy, then fell back down in his seat. Bianca was next to him, rubbing her eyes, getting herself together.

"Oh...I guess I fell asleep." she said with an effeminate purr.

"Yeah, and your head put my arm to sleep too." he said, shaking it a little. She smiled, then stood up, stretching.

"Well, that's what it gets for not being soft enough."

"Yeah, yeah..." he said with a returned smile. It seemed no matter what and no matter how, that even in small little segments like that, they could end up smiling, not at the moment or words said, but at each other, just for each other. They both liked that quality.

"Well, we're here." she said, the end of her sentence coinciding with the hiss of the eight hydraulic doors, separated by twenty five seats a piece, a set of doors on each side of the MT. They slowly fell out of the side of the wall, arcing downward where they dug a small hole into the ground with their massive weight. Quint and Bianca were sitting next to one of the hydraulic doors, stepping out and down the side, the wet grass underneath feeling a lot nicer than the unforgiving steel of the MT and the concrete of the head quarters, which Darton could still feel in his steps, a slight ache in his heels from it.

"Whoa" was the words that seemed to choke out of Darton's lungs as he looked upon Neo-Troy from the outside walls, the MT next to him, waiting to be let in. The walls in front of him towered up to massive heights, reaching about six hundred feet off of the ground, a dull sandstone of the walls. The first twenty or so feet were marked with scrapes and bites, dents and cuts, chunks of stone missing, and small holes. Gears had tried attacking Troy, the bottom of the walls lined with bits of decay and rubble, though nothing severe. It seemed like the Gears had come, only to realize how useless it was before giving up, or killed from above. The walls cast off the clear sky silver moon off of them, a slightly orange hue from the walls, drainage pipes leading out of the walls at bout two hundred feet high, the small metal pipes lined with rust and mold, the edges disgusting, having never been cleaned. On the ground underneath where they would drain were small slime pits, a swamp like atmosphere, flies buzzing around and small bits of the bad-side of plant growth, along the lines of weeds, mushrooms, and other sporous parasites.

At each angle of the square city was a watch tower built onto the top, a small square jutting out further from the edge at the top, a guard in each, a small oil lamp on top, that if lit, would signify to the other three, and citizens below, that he saw something. Small bits of grass grew into the cracks at the bottom of the walls, ivy crawling up the sides, veering to get in, but confined to the walls, like Moses before Israel. Bits of graffiti were splatted across the walls, painted in myriads of colors and symbols, as well as flavorful language, Quint noticed in the pale moon light. A walkway at the top of Troy was lined with a railing, a few faces peering over to the crew coming back from the external excursion. The tops of buildings inside of the city could be seen above the massive walls, the tips of light and activity brimming over, like boiling water to a cup. Hums and dollops of sound echoed out from the confines of the city, laughter, yelling, chatter, the scream of bits of machinery, a dry _fap_ of people walking to and fro...life itself, inside the massive walls, enclosing it. It was huge, it was amazing, and it left him dumbfounded. It was Troy..._you're here, Darton, you're finally here, __Troy__. You can live now, be safe, do what you want with your life, you're safe, Darton, you're safe._

Zeronova's Notes:  
Woo baby! Characterization up da bung hole! We got a lot of good Quint/Bianca trappings in place, as well as a bit of her background, and more on Darton's shady one. This chapter was a bit more boring, but we finally have Troy, finally. And, we also have to get to Lyon in the next few weeks, ah the problems of 5k updates, eh? Oh well, I had 5k idea from the beginning, can't stop now. Keep it tuned, we got sooo much more coming for DG, it ain't even funny. I'd like to hear what you think of Darton ad Bianca's characters, both separate and together, since romance isn't my forte, and it really matters how they feel and act. Well...this surpasses the original DG, which was 113k, this now at 115k. Wow. Anyway, next Monday, next update, keep it tuned.


	24. Arc 2: Coming on up

"Quit yer staring, let's go." Bianca said slightly, nudging Darton out of his gaze from Troy in the dead of night. Stars lit the sky in a display of dazzling simplicity, sparkling alone and to themselves, distanced and seperated by great amounts of nothing, yet they worked together in a soundless symphony to the deaf eyes of onlookers. The truck sat in front of the two large gates of Troy, rumbling in the front cabin, the two men sitting in the front controlling it looking ragged, tired and exhausted, sweat beading on their faces and staring eyes looking forward past the wall to things unknown, in a slight daze. Driving a MT was tough, since you had to put all of your body into doing it, to turn, or keep the pedals down to power it, to hold the wheel straight, from not veering off and going in every which direction, it wasn't easy. Both of the men had a similar set of controls, both linked on a Gear box so if they both moved together, it wouldn't be as hard, but it was still plenty difficult, as the men showed, but driving a MT had benefits, as their muscled bodies showed.

A low creak, audible even over the roar of the MT cracked through the mass of people. It wasn't exactly loud, and it was rather silent under the roar, but the sound seemed to fill their ears and rebound inside, being loud only to their ears, nothing around and in front of them being loud from the door, but that inaudible screech that brings chills to the ears of those hearing it. The two massive doors, split down the middle of the front of Troy. One line showed that they existed, the rest of the doors hidden and matching the walls. The walls slowly slid open, the crack growing in its darkness, like a void of nothing, a hell sucking them in, the sides slowly arcing outward, the black growing, until finally, the backward thick edges cleared, and fragments of the inside of Troy met their eyes, like a slit of an eye looking back, opening more every second. There was a mark in the grass, where the dirt was, no plants growing in the perfect arc, spreading out in both directions from the line. The doors slowly seemed to follow these curves like clock work, clods of mud being caught up and flung side, roots of plants ripped up by the massive doors. Each door was the height of Troy, each going about halfway towards the edge from the middle, splitting the difference.

The walkways up top were separated, and slowly removed from one another as the doors opened, people scurrying to unattach the railings and planks before they snapped from the mechanized doors. They must have done this every time anyone entered or left Troy, thought Quint, taking in every sight, smell, sound he could. The families and people finally emptied off of the MT, carrying their goods, ranging from a small box of items to large, ten foot pieces of wood, a very valuable thing in these times. They all waited around the doors, not walking in.

"What are we waiting for?" he whispered to Bianca, who simply hushed him. He stood agitated, shifting his weight, then saw. The MT crawled forward, the thundering engine waking those in the city who might not have been, though a crowd could be seen inside. The truck finally turned inside, and stopped on the side of the door, parallel with the walls, then the people walked in.

Slow, tedious steps, all in fashion, people walking in a line. After they officially set foot in Troy, they broke from the line of people, about four or five in a single line, and went to their houses, or waiting arms. There was a crowd on the ground floor of Troy, arms extended to hug oncoming family and friends to welcome them home. Others cut through the crowd, holding their valuables, and left into the night to where ever they needed to be.

The sight Quint saw only furthered his amazement at Troy. Since Troy's walls were built over fifty years ago, they were never moved, the city staying in the confines of its old skeleton, as far as the base goes. But, the city sky rocketed upward, buildings built on the first floor of Troy, under a shadow of those above. Buildings were built on top of old ones, the changes in their architecture noticeable, sprouting out of another building, a building being held up by two others, no touching point in the ground, a network and maze in the sky between the buildings and city of Troy above, the below sections older and covered in constant shadow. The buildings glimmered with unnatural light, a few specks of gold, and most of it reflecting and being lit up from the night sky moon, an unparalleled beauty it seemed to give to all it shone on, raining silver onto those fortunate enough to cup the treasure dropped from the moon. Walkways of people above looking down met Quint as he walked in, walkways between buildings in the sky, small rims on the walls and stair sets, people all over, just watching the returning of the few brave enough to leave Troy to the outside world. Most of Troy was there, as they were for every returning convoy, and to sleep through the opening and closing of doors, as well as MT, would be nearly impossible.

"Wow..." Darton mumbled, his head arched upward as he walked in, looking at all of the faces, staring back at him. "This is amazing" he whispered to himself, Bianca next to him realizing.

"Yeah, I always think so too when I come back" she whispered back, walking in slowly to Troy. "Follow me" she said, gaining his attention, then jumping into the crowd of people. Darton followed behind her, pushing people out of the way as best he could, a few people bumping and pushing him, his left shoulder not fairing well out of the ordeal, wincing and heaving in breath by the time he found his way out of the hundreds of people circled around the entrance. The streets were empty, now that they were past the huge bulk of onlookers to the entrance of people from the MT, which sat now parallel to the wall, directly next to the doors.

The streets were old and used, the gravel and cobblestone worn down to a smooth rut in the road from its jagged spear out of the ground years past. Sidewalks and streets no longer mattered, paced over by thousands of feet, the city worn down on the lowest levels. Quint could even see it himself, the people on the floor of Troy living under the shadow of the Troy above, reaching skyward, the buildings dilapidated and worn down, the ones built on the ashes of the old looking more youthful, mixed with cement and metal, like skin dripping from bone, slowly arching up from the decay on the bottom, each foot up looking more livid, until where his vision scattered at the tops, infants towering over the elderly underneath of them, treading upon the ground where the ancients from its past were buried.

"Hey, follow me" Bianca said, tugging on Darton's coat jacket lapel, looking back smiling.

"And where are we going?" he asked amused.

"Anywhere" she said, turning around, facing him, smiling deviously. "Whenever I get back from the outside world, back here to Troy, I feel free and alive, I want to go see it all again, relive what I have a hundred times, glad to be home, saying I'll never leave again, but in a month, I find myself stepping on that MT again, repeating itself all over again...know what I mean?" she asked, standing still in the middle of the old road, looking around at Troy around her, the mass of people a few hundred yards back.

"...No, I don't." he said, her close enough to hear his mumble.

"Why?" she asked, hesitantly, nodding a bit forward as she did, grabbing his attention as he looked away. "Tell me, Darton. You owe me from the truck."

"Well, you were kind of lying on me, I say that's payback enough." She tilted her head, giving him a look of seriousness and chiseled determination. "I never had a real home, that's why." he said, his tone as serious as her determination for answers. He tried walking around her and forward, but she stepped in front of him, stopping him. Her look gave him a bit of a chill, the icy coldness in it, a serious undertone he thought not possible from her humorous and jovial self he had learned about earlier.

"Tell me why. I got you in Troy."

"Why does it matter to you?" he leaned his head down, whispering it in front of her, his eyes transfixed on hers.

"I wanted to know, I wanted to find out...about you..." she said, looking off to the side, the centering her view at Darton again.

"Why?" he said, mocking her why before, serious and to the point, like a sharp edge thrust straight into her chest, knocking the wind out of her, unable to answer. She inhaled deeply, regaining herself, then tried to answer.

"Well...I...come on, I brought you to Neo-Troy, right? I expect something outta ya. You got some demons or something, especially to just leave the Seikishidan like that. I wanted to know them."

"You brought me here just to learn my past?"

"You're such a Doubting Thomas..." she muttered, turning and walking forward. She took a few steps forward, hearing Quint's behind her, the bustle and roar of people behind her, talking and screaming, already selling off items, talking to friends and family, as well as the group starting to dissipate, far-away echoes of footsteps in every direction, as well as people above on the higher levels of Troy starting to fan out, back home, as it was already pretty late anyway. Darton kept his pace behind her, head low in thought, her looking forward to where she was going, a bit perturbed at the turn of events. _Come on, she's right, at least tell her something. You feel like you can't? You can, she's put trust in you so far, she brought you to __Troy__, she even goddamn rescued you from the Seikishidan, how would anyone else have even thought of doing that? Darton, you say you want to start a new life, don't let your old one hinder you..._

"I never had a home because I lived in Berlin-4..." Quint said slowly, her attention piqued, walk slowing, and her turning. He took a few more steps forward until he was face-to-face with her, looking up a little to meet eyes with her, despite she was lower than him.

"The city is now Berlin-5, though..."

"Exactly." he said. **Cities were numbered by the amount of times they had been destroyed and rebuilt. ****Berlin****, 5 times, ****Dresden****, 4 times, but Neo-****Troy****, never. Paris wasn't a city anymore, it was gone, off of the face of the map, but the ruins remained, and the countryside, the area, still called Paris, hence the Parisian Headquarters.**

"I lived there when it happened, when Berlin-4 was burned to the ground, everyone killed, except a few to rebuild it, the city demolished. I was there." he said, smiling a little, memories running amok behind his eyes, unable to fully look at Bianca, her eyes looking into his, which were vapid and far away. "I remember that day, I want to forget it, I do, but I can't. I lived in a normal apartment type building, my family there too. Had a nice mom, strict dad, younger brother...we all lived in Berlin, it was nice. There wasn't much defense there, except for the Seikishidan response if attacked, but nothing like the walls of Troy. There was a Seikishidan base stationed a few miles outside of Berlin, but it was a small one, only about 300 soldiers, it was more of a outpost, a surveillance station than a base." Her eyes were transfixed on his, which seemed not to reflect her sense of looking. Her hair, down to her neck and in black strings, seemed to part from the way of her face, leaving her green eyes visible and very emerald, even in the silver moonlight. Darton's face, covered by the long brown hair in front of his face, covering down to his chin, blocked out his own brown eyes, but she could still see them underneath his hair, blinking not very often, glazed over, a rim of tears at the bottom.

"The Gears came...we were attacked. Berlin was destroyed, razed, completely leveled. It was disgusting, horrible. They said the Gear attack was small, only about three hundred, a small pack that ran across the plains from somewhere in Russia, avoided sentries, kept low, and just kept on coming. They had Berlin in their sights, I don't know why, there was nothing there, not too many people, maybe five thousand, at most, it was still kind of regenerating from Berlin-3 being destroyed about fifteen years earlier. I was nine...my brother six. When the Gears came, they came from the East, taking out the Seikishidan base with ease. They surprise attacked the place, killing most of the soldiers. And, in the process, gained some nice weaponry from the soldiers, a lot of standard-issue Seikishidan swords, which they used against us. We were more than defenseless, like sheep to the slaughter." he said, his breathing mellow and slow. Bianca was totally silent, the world seeming to swivel in upon both of them, the few people now walking by and the over-head clanks of footsteps on the metallic catwalks, echoing voices and life around settling into the veil of night not even being a question to the two.

"When they got into town, they came like a wave, killing basically whoever got in their way until they got to the end of the city, leaving none alive they could find. My father and mother didn't have a real job, they just liked to go around to other families, see how things were, help out where ever they could, a Samaritan kind of thing, you know? I remember one day, they brought in a kid they found, both arms broken, blood all over when they brought him to our apartment, fourth floor of the building we helped rebuild with our own hands, before my brother was born, he left stains in the floor we couldn't get out. Anyway, seems he had no family, some muggers weren't too happy about him not having much...he died later that day, blood loss. He wasn't much older than me. I never wanted to be weak, never wanted to be one to die, I'd fight for everything I had until the very end...never wanted to be that boy dying on someone else's floor because of damn mugger. My parents tried to save him, fed him, bandaged him up, he didn't eat, and only bled right through everything, until he finally died. We buried the kid, put a cross on the grave, and we had to give him a name, we didn't want an anonymous grave, so we just named him Newton, since my parents were going to either call me Quint or Newton, you know which one won." Quint's words seemed to flow out of him, nothing else in the world even mattering. Bianca smiled, slowly reaching up and brushing part of his hair back behind his ear to better look at him when he talked, Quint not even noticing, so deep in memory, his eyes glazed over and not realizing anything in front of him, nothing around him, just enveloped in his memories.

"Well, my parents were out doing their every day routine the day the Gears came. They were on the East side of town...among the first to be slaughtered by the Gears carrying Holy Order swords they pillaged from the dead they had offed earlier. They worked their way West, just killing. I was at home with my brother. We instantly knew Gears were in town by the screams. They traveled, the first dead I thought was my mother, I knew her voice, thought I heard her scream. I couldn't see out that far, but I just knew it, I could feel them, I knew that there were Gears coming. My brother and I cooped up in the apartment, we tried to hide, but there was no where...so I just sat in the corner, my brother behind me, no one would see him if I sat in front of him, basically being a shield. For the next hour, I just sat there, trembling. I could hear him breathing too, sobbing, for no reason, and I told him to shut up, where he held in himself, made sure not to even move, but I couldn't help myself. I heard the Gears below, grunting and growling, the two-voices they got, the ugly reality of it all. I heard them slashing, people dying, people screaming, splats of blood, I heard it all, I thought I could see it, even though I knew I could not. It was there...it was all on the streets, hearing people fleeing, then the steps of Gears, massive and burling coming to them, then the death." A small tear rolled down Darton's face, unaware that it was even there, continuing to talk.

"I don't know how one of them found us..me and my brother. Up in the small apartment, I heard it step up the stairs, the clank of the sword it held lazily in one hand smashing against each and every step as it walked. I prayed to God, don't let it come here, don't let it be coming up this apartment, don't let it stop at this door, don't let it come in, don't let it...but it did. I heard it stop in front of our door, pacing and breathing heavily, a deep growl and a whine at the same time, then it came in, ripping the door from its hinges, smashing to the ground a couple of feet back, splintering into two. It looked around, I held my breath, then it saw me, walking forward, the sword dragging across the ground in its right hand...it seemed to snicker, laugh a little, just a small mutter of sadism, I knew it was Justice, looking at me through the eyes. Then, it stabbed me, the sword dug through my chest...right here" he said, bringing his right hand up to the bottom of his ribcage, rubbing across the scar underneath, remembering it, the pain coming back to something that hadn't hurt in over a decade.

"I screamed, my brother screamed, and it took the sword out, I was frantic, unable to breath, and I jumped forward at the Gear. I tried punching it, but I did nothing, it just swiped me out of the way. I hit the wall, almost knocking me out. I saw it walk up to me, but I couldn't see that well, I was bleeding and almost knocked out. It was about to kill me, when something happened, I stood up, I don't know how, I can't even describe how I know I did it, it just happened. My body wasn't doing it, I was on strings, a puppet...it was happening. It tried stabbing again, and the sword went through the wall as I ducked, then I ran into it, knocking the big thing back, its hand removed from the grip of the sword. It took another swipe at me, but missed, its hand cutting through the wall, lodging itself into the wall. I punched it, I don't know how, but it was hard, my hand was bleeding, skin ripped back off my own hand, but I felt its bone break too. Then, I grabbed the sword out of the wall, and slashed at it, killing it. It died there in my apartment. Then, I dropped the sword, falling to my knees. My own blood fell where Newton's had, staining the floor once again. My body was weak, so weak, I wanted to die, I knew I was going to, I don't know how I even stood up and fought the Gear, but then I crawled over to my brother. He was still sitting where I had been in front of him...but his eyes were closed. I nudged him, I said to him it was okay, I killed it, it's alright, he didn't open his eyes...then I realized the stab wound on his chest, it was deep, and the blood was covering his shirt, dripping down to the ground in a small pool. The Gear had stabbed through me, and into him, it killed him, where it had aimed for me, it got both of us, but he died. He _died _where I _should_ have..." Darton said, more tears finding their way down his face, eyes far off.

Bianca smiled slightly, bringing her hand up and rubbing the tears away. The gentle touch of her hand shot Darton back to reality, shocked at first, unable to see, his eyes watered up, feeling the hot tears on his cheeks, and her thumb rubbing them off, her hand holding his cheek in her palm, slowly rubbing one finger against him. He took a deep breath, looking down at her, her own eyes reflecting back at him the forest green they had, even at night. He smiled a little, then it overwhelmed him, the memories, the feelings he had tried to block out and put behind him, things that were not his to keep and hide, but that were of another life and another time, something behind him, and they stabbed at him now, his scar hurting again, and reminding him that they were _his_ not someone else's, his memories, his life. He stumbled forward, unable to stand, and Bianca caught him, wrapping her arms around him. She was shorter than him, his stature at about six foot, her at five-foot-seven, but she held him there, gently hugging and embracing him. His head fell onto her shoulder, unable to hold itself up. Her arms found his back underneath his arms, holding him tightly, as not to fall, and for other reasons...

"He _died _where I _should_ have..." Darton whispered again into her ear, where his head situated on her shoulder, unable to feel, unable to swallow, a lump in his throat and eyes burning with pain, memories becoming vivid and alive to him, springing from the vaults of memory to assault and attack him, but she was there to hold him, there to support him, awkwardly if that, but she was there...she was there.

* * *

Low clicks and clacks shot through the morning sky, soldiers walking around, snapping on their armor, praying, and doing what they needed before they boarded the MTs. It was fifteen before 0800, the soldiers not on call for another fifteen minutes, but still punctual, and doing what it was they needed to. Ky was ready at sunrise, as he always was, armor on under his Seikishidan Commander uniform. He slowly paced through the crowd of soldiers, all buzzing around and near the MTs. Both of his hands were clasped behind his back as he paced in the weaning morning The morning wasn't as amazing as it had been when he was lifted from the Seikishidan H.Q., every bit of the sky he took in, the clouds and the early sun, shooting itself over the sky and beyond, driving night from above. This morning, the sun seemed low, unwilling to rise, night counter attacking from its defeat previous, stars still lining the sky, and moon not yet at the horizon, veering to stay up as long as possible.

_God...let that not be a sign to me. _The emotions of the soldiers seemed to be on par with that of what the sky showed, an angst and fear running rampant, not willing to fight and live, their souls dampened and confined to what they should have been feeling. Even walking through the encampment of preparing soldiers, Ky could feel the low morale. Soldiers were busy at work, lifting their heads and nodding at Ky as he walked by, who only nodded back, their tiredness and doubt coupling for a mix that wasn't good, not for what was going to happen.

The soldiers were distributed armor, a special type that was only used in situations where the probability of survival was under 20, and in a situation like "Retake a city that is controlled by Gears", you have a pretty low survival rate. The U.N. predicted the mission success rate, of course, as well as probability of survivors, and they were even bringing in A.A.'s off the bat. Though, the mission had to be done, so they were willing to let this sort of thing happen, even if many would die, and Ky couldn't help but agree. If the Gears had Lyon, they had an apex, a place to build a base out of, gather troops, and would have a strong hold in the only really secure place left in the world, Western Europe. But, after the Tibetan mission, no one knew where Justice was, he could be at Lyon himself, but either way, Lyon was a strategic point where they could get to Paris, as they did, Dresden-4, Berlin-5, Great Britain, the Poland colonies, and Troy, but that wasn't a concern of the Seikishidan or U.N., due to their unallegiance and devolution from the rest of the world.

Ky wore his armor underneath his uniform, so that his rank could be seen, but the preparation took him an extra hour in the morning, which he compensated for by waking at dawn. Though, dawn seemed to have stretched out for over two hours now, night fighting to keep its stake on the sky and the sun fighting a battle it seemed half-assed to be in, night knowing loss would be inevitable, but did its damndest to fight.

The armor was kept in small containers, each container holding one-size-fits-all pieces for certain body parts. It was basically more pieces of the fiber-plastic gauntlet material. The gauntlet for the lower arm was a necessity for sword fighting, and Seikishidan outfit imperative, the rest of the armor fit like it. Two identical halves strapped together, for the most part. An upper arm two-piece, strapped together by two separate belts tightening them, same with upper leg and lower leg. The chest was a specially molded piece for the front, and a flatter piece for the back, supporting posture as well as protection, though the chest piece, which ran from the neck to the hips, wasn't as strong as its counterparts on the limbs, since it was more flexible and able to move in, since the hard, unforgiving armor everywhere else would make fighting hand-to-hand near impossible. Ky looked stockier and bigger wit the armor, though he didn't care, it was armor. The final piece was a helmet, one that was made of the same color-coded armor, green for private, orange for lieutenant, red for sergeant, blue for commander. There was a full one-hundred-and-eighty degree slat in the front, covered by a clear visor, and small holes for breathing and talking.

The soldiers knew putting on the armor meant one thing, that most of them would not be coming back alive. The armor, in the end, really didn't help, but it gave more of a psychological boost to the morale of the soldiers, as well as that in certain cases, it _was_ useful, but armor was only donned in battles where death wasn't inevitable, but a certainty. They were suicidally attacking a city infested with equal or more Gears in it, though the Seikishidan couldn't send more soldiers, they hadn't the MTs for it.

The soldiers clicked their armor on, faces solemn and tired, as if they were waiting for death, eyes low, with that dull glaze Ky had seen in the eyes of the soldiers in the Seikishidan H.Q. raid. On his slow walk between the 554 soldiers, one such soldier was snapping on his lower-leg armor, looking up as he saw Ky stop in front of him. He smiled hesitantly, forcing it. Ky smiled back genuinely, a look of genuine understanding and compassion. Kiske put his hand on the soldier's shoulder, standing for a moment and looking at the soldier in the eyes, the lieutenant not hesitating to stare back. Ky nodded slightly, and continued walking.

_Well, Kliff, I don't know what you would do. I don't, in a situation like this...we prepare to die. What would you do? Call off the mission, wait to attack? We can't...__Lyon__ needs to be taken out, now. It is a threat, one day more and another wave of Gears could attack Bordeaux, Berlin-5, anywhere, this needs to be done. But, you served the Seikishidan for so long, lead it for so long also, how could you deal with the soldiers you'd see before the mission, then have to look at them the next day on the ground, dead? I can only give them hope, be a leader, be someone to look up to and put trust in...I don't know if you instinctively knew how, but I do my best for it, and my best to instill it. You had the certain aura, a friendliness, a something that made you think "It'll be alright" just from being near you...these soldiers, they know, they can feel that by next sunrise, they'll be dead. I dream of smoke through the trees, and the voices of those who stand lonely. It makes me wonder. But, I can only do my best. Your leadership was flawless, I can only hope to be like it...but now, after what has happened and what I have seen, just in the past few days, I can to myself say...I don't need to be like you and lead like you, I will do it how I intend, and you knew that, Kliff. You knew how I thought and lead would be the salvation of mankind, you knew...so maybe I shouldn't live in the shadow you had over these soldiers who I am just coming to know and command with authority that I feel privileged to have, not shaky or unsure of. I know, I must do things like this, I know I must lead those to death, for it is needed in this world, needed to save more lives, needed...you knew that, Kliff._

Kiske continued his walk between the rows of soldiers, gathered together in clumps, by friendship or rank, readying armor, doing their things before they got onto the MTs and headed off to fight. A group of soldiers to Ky's left were all sitting around silent, passing a cigarette around, each taking puffs off of it slowly, looking off, distanced. _It would be their last, and they know it...they do it with such a reserved calmness and acceptance though._ More soldiers passed in front and to the sides of him as he walked through, hands behind his back. He needed to be there, with his soldiers, to show he was like them, there in the way and in the battle for humanity, where he could die like them, he needed to show them.

Off to the corner of his eye, he saw the old man from the chapel who had been sleeping. A small circle of soldiers around him were all kneeling, heads in reverence, listening and praying as he read an excerpt from the Bible in his hands, the shrill words carrying over the crisp morning air. On the point of amen, even he whispered it to himself, as he heard other soldiers around him, not in the small circle near the reverend as well.

"Well sir, seems like we're ready." Jaygus said, standing up from his position sitting on the ground, talking with another soldier, the idle banter going to what it was like in Dresden-4, cutting off the conversation to talk to Ky, a friendly smile and a "We'll continue this later" murmured to the lieutenant before he stood.

"It would seem so." Ky said, turning, surveying the scene of soldiers around the gates of the base, the three MTs serving as an apex for their gathering. Ky cleared his throat, then took leadership.

"Soldiers of the Seikishidan, on your feet!" he said, a deep voice and a very authoritative sense in his voice. The soldiers stood up, some slow, some springing to perfect attention. "I'm going to tell you the truth" he said, slowly, pacing to his left, head down. "I...don't like this mission. I can feel it in my bones, this day will end with many dead, few survivors...hope will be lost..." he said, each word seeming to add an extra weight to the soldiers already frail sense of hope that was bending under the weight. "But, I feel something else..." the soldiers seemed to perk to life, the burden of previous words seeming somehow lightened. "I feel victory. Justice's Gears cannot stop us from taking back Troy, from saving the countless lives that them having Lyon could have caused in raids and attacks on other cities and towns. I feel that we will eradicate the threat, I know we will. We can't lose, because if we do, then we have nothing else to fight for, life itself is lost. But, we won't lose...I know it, and there's something much more important here, other people riding with us. The lives of the unborn, the lives of the families and lives that are defenseless, where we come in. How can those to rebuild our world live if we fail? They won't if we fail, but we won't, we will not, soldiers. I'm fighting here with you today, alongside, not as a superior, but as another man, another person raising fist and anger, a fight against Gears...and we will win, I know it. It may not be pretty, and many of you won;'t live for another sunrise, but you will have won, you will have done something so worthy with your life, even God Himself will have to say 'Look! There stood a man who had something great in his life, and died protecting it!'. God...I don't know if he is on our side today, I don't know whether He would be or not, but God or no God, we won't lose, and we can't, we'll win." he said, his words seeming to flow from him. _Kliff, I know you'd want me to lead however best I could, not to be like you, but to be like me, to lead in the way I will and can._ "File in, soldiers, we're going to Bordeaux." he murmured his last words, the soldiers all understanding and pacing to the sides and backs of the trucks, filling in the empty seats, the top seats by the drivers occupied by A.A.'s.

"Nice speech there, boy. I bet that even Justice would have loved to hear that poetic crap." a gruff voice shot out to Ky. The soldiers were all but in the A.A.'s, waiting for Ky to come in, and give signal to move out, to let the wheels roll and get out, but he stood firm in front of the soldiers, in front of the MTs while his speech was over, the soldiers going into the trucks behind him. And, Sol stayed too. He had been leaning behind Ky on a MT, smoking as usual. Some soldiers asked him for a cigarette earlier, and he gave on to them, with a bit of spite, but he figured the dumbasses would want one last puff before they got chopped.

"Shut up" Ky said with a malicious disdain. "Get in the trucks or stay." he said, taking his steps towards the nearest MT.

"Ooh, you got me scared now. What if I don't go?" Sol mused.

"Then I don't got to worry about getting stabbed by you or a Gear." Kiske responded before disappearing into a truck.

"Ha boy, I won't be killing you, not now, because as much as I hate your ass" he said, a low whisper in which he knew Ky couldn't hear "I got a special little place in my heart for that fucker, Justice." He took the last drag off of his cigarette, then tossed the butt into the closing hydraulic door, knowing it would bounce around, Ky seeing it. He took a few steps to his left, and jumped up on a hydraulic door that was lifting, and found a place among the soldiers, not wearing any armor or a Seikishidan uniform, his patented jeans-and-vest approach staying intact, even knowing more so than everyone there the threat of Gears.

The soldiers seemed to scoot away from Sol, even though they couldn't move seats in the confined spaces, but his own presence made them fear a little bit, adding to the thoughts that they might die by day's end. Before Sol could slap one of them upside the head, for whatever reason he deemed necessary to do so, a square of soldiers to his far right started talking in the silent MT, voice wise, as the engine squealed n a Gear-like scream, tires mashing into dirt with a thunderous boom, and each and every soldier silent, in thought.

For some reason, the four soldiers who were talking seemed oblivious to the day ahead, the battle, which Sol knew he felt the same way, but why did they? Immediately, one reached into their boot, and produced a heavily-worn and faded deck of cards, passing out them between the four, talking about the game and what to do.

_Looks like we got ourselves a four pair of jokers.__ Idiots don't know what they're getting into, and they sure as hell don't want to know, but cards? What do they think they can do, gamble their way around life and death? Fucking amateurs._

Zeronova's Notes:  
Wow. You'll notice how I continued this chapter with the night from the last chapter, but initially, it started with the Ky scene, and a scene in the morning of Troy with Quint waking up in Bianca's apartment, but the scene didn't feel right, there was something I had from the scene from the night of arriving at Troy I had to use...the welling of feeling had to come out, and the way it happened after I scrapped the scene and wrote this one, I think was beautiful, on par with KR2's type of amazing story-telling and emotion. ;) But, now we have a further evolution of Bianca/Darton, Darton's past (which kicks the ass of his past in the original DG), and preparing for Lyon. Oh yeah, this is Arc II, baby.


	25. Arc 2: The ride of your life

* * *

The morning sun rose hesitantly, night keeping a grip of death upon the night sky, unable to be permeated by the morning sun. But, the sun came around, a second wave bringing around victory with a better result than the dawn had, night drove from the sky late into the morning, about nine. After the battle won, the sun decided to go on its way, normal activities, before its defeat as per usual at night. It had a sort of eerie condescending look through the small, rectangular reinforced glass panels at the top of the MT, small inch-wide panels on both sides of the center rope light that was built into the ceiling. The rectangular bars dropped in on the soldiers, illuminating bits and pieces, most of the MT in a veil of darkness and silence.

The droning of the wheels and engine cut out all other noise and the ability to talk, so no one did. If anyone needed anything, it was tap Bob next to you, make a gesture, or if it was something else, something stupid, you kept it to yourself, who cares? Most were sleeping or praying, a few had fallen asleep while praying too. A few were jittery, afraid of the battle, afraid to wear that armor, afraid to die. Others were jittery to get to Lyon, kick some ass, take some names, all in a day's work. The Four Jokers once again, and still, playing cards in silence amongst themselves, two lieutenants and two privates, probably all from the same home town and all friends because of it, rank not separating them.

But Ky found himself only watching others, thinking. _To the extent these soldiers risk their lives...for what? The betterment of humanity? The betterment of a world for their children? Or is it the fight, simply? They are soldiers to fight and kill, so they do it. Or is it for God? Hardly anyone thinks that God is the factor, His power lost ages ago, despite our foundation being in His arms...but truly, I cannot help but see what they mean. Look, there, that lieutenant sitting there, head back, eyes open, just thinking, not caring. He wasn't praying, I've had my eye on him, he hasn't even shown a slight inkling of care...yet he's here, he's going to risk his life, and for that, he is a member of the Seikishidan. Risking your life...is the reason we fight, possibly. For God? Maybe. For the betterment of humanity? Possibly. For anything? Up in the air. But just being there...doing it, that's what I need soldiers for, soldiers to do things...but what about God? I cannot make soldiers believe...but I can. Is God with me, with us? Even non-believers? But, we are His people, we cannot lose, we have to win and persevere, under the...death of others who are undeserving of it...but we must continue, that is our nature and our punishment. God may not give me soldiers or victory, but He can give me strength._

A bump in the truck woke everyone up, the back end jumping out of the air slightly, everyone jumping to life out of sleep, looking around, blood rushing, then going back to sleep. Just a small boulder or something we ran over, no worries Bob. They looked around in defending silence, asking with their eyes, everyone shrugging and going back to sleep, praying, playing cards, whatever their fancy was. Kiske however didn't, only seeing that as another sign, another Godly intervention. _What is it...what are you trying to tell me!_

The three MTs rode in a line next to each other, all headed for Lyon, each veering up ahead of the other, then the next taking charge, falling back, like a wave, constantly rushing up upon the shores of death. The sun was approaching noon, a full ride ahead of them. They left at 0800, and Lyon was basically a hundred kilometers inward of Geneva, so about six or seven hours on the trip, then the infiltration, and the battle.

"Sir..." a soldier whispered, sitting next to Kiske. He was sitting up by the front of the MT, near the two drivers, the last seat against the metal sheet and cufflings that held the payload to the front cabin, Gestahl standing firm in the doorway, watching the horizon come to him. Ky turned, looking at the soldier, able to hear him because of how close he kneeled to his ear. "Will...do you think I'll come home alive? I got a family, a girlfriend...I don't want to die."

"Soldier, whatever happens..." Ky gulped. _Kliff, what do you do...how do you tell a soldier he will die, know that person you talked to, the one you reaffirmed, is now dead, gone, and you know he will be, but how can you...How? _"God's Will is the ultimate penance. Whether or not alive or dead, you will have carried out His will, done the right thing. Dying or not…doesn't matter, but what you did before you did, the reason you lived or died. That'd what matters, soldier." _Wow, nice, he might even believe it, __Ky.__ A diplomat in no time._

The soldier blinked a few times, swallowing hard on the words, as well as a choking constriction in his throat, then nodded, sighing, then fell back asleep. His head hung over his body, strapped back by the over-the-shoulders metal harness that had a vertical pivot to hold soldiers in seats. His head bobbled with each bump like a toy, his sleep almost instantaneous with Ky's words and his head falling back down. _Maybe he wasn't even awake…_

Another bump in the road jostled the truck, the entire thing shaking back and forth, the head of the soldier next to him snoring slightly as it juggled slightly, it seemed like he had been asleep for an hour. Kiske put it out of mind, looking around to the other soldiers. Sol was on another MT, as was Jaygus, but Gestahl was next to him, standing in the cabin door. He stood with both arms extended to the door frame, holding it open and bracing himself, eyes transfixed on a horizon he always seemed to be looming at, brooding for the day he'd meet it. Then, a faint glint of something metal under his left suit pocket…Kiske saw it again, every time he stood like that, the sun caught and glinted off of it, whatever it was…but he saw it, always did, and he wanted to know.

"Gestahl…" he said somewhat weakly, a bit nauseated and tired. The U.N. officer turned his head inquiriously, then his body followed, looking at Ky with a questioning gaze on his face. "What's that?" he said, a lazy finger pointing at his suit pocket.

"A suit." He said rather sternly, turning back to the doorway.

"I saw it, don't lie." Gestahl simply smiled, nodded slightly, and turned back to his position standing, looking over the two drivers and out of the wind shield, low hills and country side ahead to a field of death.

"Go to sleep, Mr. Kiske. Long day ahead of you." _U.N. soldiers, same as U.N. diplomats…governments change, governments fall, soldiers change allegiance and die, yet the lies stay the same._

* * *

_They're coming…I can feel it, they don't like me, they hate me there. It's a good thing, strategical axis of power, they've got to come attack it, got to come give me a run for the money…but they're stupid. They'll lose, and die, it's going to be very…sad to see it, no less. Five-hundred plus, not over six-hundred, they can't transport it, and they'll be wearing that stupid black armor, which more or less tells me that even the humans know I'll win…so very fun, but it takes out the fun in seeing who will win, the excitement, for that sort of thing hands me the victory. That armor, they fear wearing it, they fear me when they're in it, even though it is "armor"…ha, as if such a thing for humans is good enough. Humans are weak, it's their DNA, their bodies are not adapted to this, not made for life on the edge, having to fight for it, they're not wolves, they're not predators or hunters…they're human. Which makes me wonder why, why has this gone on for so long…because of you, Kliff? Because of these few people, adapted to it, able to rise above humanity, become leaders, fight beyond genetic and physical capacity…to just be a soldier, like you Kliff._

_Well, here, tonight I will see your next-of-kin, so to speak…see how he stacks up against you. It saddens me, you finally left the service, left our little fun games…handed to this boy. He shows potential, but he and I won't have what you and I did, Kliff. What we had…was special. I won't say this goes against my morals, but I would have loved to talk to you, just sat down one day and talked, no Gears, no death, no war, just talking, you and me…I think you would have too._

_One of these run down coffee shops I destroyed, that dead body behind the counter, if his arm was still attached, serving a cup of coffee, you'd bring it over to the table, turned upside and not cracked inward, the chairs not through the wall, not covered in blood, and you'd sit there, looking at me…thinking, staring. Then, we'd talk. Why we have to fight a war continuing, on the battlefield everyday, fighting for life, ending with death, the final pieces of this war, how it will go, how it will end, who will win, what should happen if I lost, or you did. Then...then, I'd want to talk to you, Kliff, just us, just both of us. Not the war…but you. How you, a human, could lead, lead so many humans I slew in front of you, then the others that came, more and more…ever since the beginning, till you retired. But…I don't think our last meeting was bad, not at all, I actually enjoy it…I watch it sometimes, over in my memory banks, again and again…analyzing, thinking…you were good, Kliff, really…I enjoyed it, I enjoyed what we had there…before it ended._

_Tibet…that was so different…I knew the op, I knew you were coming, your troops, my troops, but I left myself there, unguarded, at your mercy, and we talked, how we talked, I wish we could have more and under different circumstances, but even that…what we had, I cherish it. An admirable adversary, as well as an admirable man. You were one of a kind, Kliff. Which is why I let that happen, everything except the end of the op, where we had to split our ways, the tragic ending to the Tibetan mission…but what that was, what we had, the small piece…I cherish it, I wonder if you do, I'd like to know, as you._

_But, where you were, in those battles, the enemy you were to me, this new one does not have, his shoes are not filled in yet…he is not you, I know it, but he has lived, even through what only you could have…and he did a few other things, odd, you would not have…but he did, such as risking his life for the others, even knowing they would die, and he would too, then reckless indiscretion, looked down upon by you. He is just a boy, but Kliff, you could have chosen better…but, he has impressed, he is still alive, I do not know how, but he is, that itself is commendable. And, I know he is leading the next attack…I know it will be soon, nightfall, I can see the three MTs, their rate of movement weighed down with excessive weight, equivalent to full payloads, as well as destination plot…good ol' Lyon._

_But…though I can see it, my eye in the sky, what you humans gave me, you forgot about. I enjoy it, these little trinkets and extras I find every so often…scattered from a world I left in ruin. I have an idea though. Where Kliff and I knew each other, we met on the battlefield, crossed our weapons, had ourselves glorious battles, pursuits of life and death, wins and losses, we were always there for each other, to fight each other, and to be where the other was, like it was predestined. Can you fill those shoes, boy? Can you fill that lack of an enemy I need, I strive for? Can you be that…for me? We'll see, boy…but in due time, let you think what you want, let things go in your favor, I'll show you, we'll meet, we'll know…and I hope, Kliff, your successor is as you hope, and as you think, because I do too…for both of us, Kliff…_

* * *

The sun fought a battle, starting at the horizon, working its ray over the land, over trees and figs, certain things standing in the way, obstinate, creating a doubt, a rebellion in shadow, that shade a mere testament to its uncompromising unwillingness to bend to it. But, it continued on, evaluating losses and pushing on, rushing up nature and building, the sun slowly coming up and through. Reaching up the walls of Troy, bounding over the top and then racing along street and building, until finally, it crept up the side of a certain one. Slow and tentative, the light shone golden higher and higher, racing tenderly up to assault the occupants. A small window at the top finally let the invaders in, a slowness before it actually got in, looking in for safety, then filtering in through all of the cracks and transparencies in the defensive. The victorious sun then crawled further…beams reaching up the floorboard, around a couch, and slowly up Darton's body, settling over his face, where after a few minutes of annoyance, finally succeeded in waking him up.

He opened his eyes, grunting at the light which wouldn't go away, and slowly sat up, looking around. _Where the…oh yeah.__ Her place. Not bad, Darton, you've known her for…two or three days, and you moved in._ He smirked slightly, his shoulder hurting as he sat up, still in a sling, his feet slipping off of the cushion where they were elevated off of the edge of the old couch, his body longer than the couch, touching the old floor below slightly. Standing on them, a wave of emotion, from soar muscles to a somewhat fluid-like vaporous feeling floating through his legs, he finally stood straight up, stretching, peering around. He hadn't taken any of it in yesterday, had no time, no light…but now was different, he had all he needed to take it in, and if he guessed right, he'd be knowing this room, and a few others, as well as Troy, much better than he had ever expected in the past.

The sofa sat against a wall of the small apartment, the eight-by-twelve foot center area having four walls, one in front of Darton, opposite where the couch was, having a small window on the far-upper-left, and a door on the far right, with a set of locks, knobs, wire-chains, and the likes for protection, a random few locked, a few not. The walls were a type of old dry-wall, a gray muddy mixture, rotting with age, bits of the disgusting yellow wall-paper fading and peeling, dripping off with age, or water corrosion leaving an orange tinge around the gone paper. Bits were hanging off, waiting to be removed, but sat like idols to a false God, defiant to the end. The door, an old wood one, was warped with years of water damage and use, splinter missing, painted chips falling off, bits of white spears invading the brown underneath, a double faced enemy. It barely fit in the frame, it had a slight curvature in the spine, as well as bloating due to age, and a musty smell of something living on the inside, a fungus or insect colony most likely. _Lucky it hasn't been ripped off and sold yet…probably because all of the damn locks keeps it hers. _He slowly stood, his wall on the left being nothing but a stopper between him and thirty-five feet down, and the opposite one of that having two doors. They were simple, metal ones, hinges that made the rather heavy, rusted metal swing like a baby in a rocker.

One was a bathroom, Quint knew, since he had used it before crashing on the old couch the night before. The couch was obviously pawned or stolen. The cushions were ripped and ratty, the yellow stuffing popping out, the buttons on the brown fabric worn of their paint and held on by thin wires of string. Springs shot through any area they could, intruding enemies to what should have been mildly comforting, not to mention it was missing one arm rest entirely, looking burnt off. The other room…he didn't know what it was, so he strode over to it, taking each step to stretch out himself. Yawning, rubbing one eye with his right arm, he leaned into the door, trying to open it. As he did, the door swung open freely, a shocked Bianca yawning also.

She jumped back, eyes widening, a sense of panic, then yelled. "What the hell you doing!" she screamed out of reflex.

"I have no idea." He said simply, stepping out of the way of the door. She walked through, groggy, pushing him slightly as she made her way to the couch. Darton leaned against a wall in amusement, watching, as she leaned over, reached through cushions and springs, and came out with a small bag. She unzipped it, pocketed some of her money, and threw the bag back in hiding. She turned to Darton, stuffing the remainders into her pocket, then nodded to the door. He nodded back unlatching a few bolts, then opened it, holding it for her, with a gentlemanly smile.

"It's too early for chivalry, Darton" she yawned, smiling a little.

"Yeah, yeah…" he said, chuckling, walking out of the apartment behind her, rubbing his eyes as he did, mourning the morning sun that would blind him when he removed his hand. When he did though, he was more than shocked, not by the sun blinding him, but what it showed under its cursed rays...Troy. Bianca's apartment sat on the third floor of an old building, a brick one with the red paint to match the bricks peeling off of the metal frame, looking like a skeleton, a metal walkway linking the levels with an old-style stairway that went down to each level, wrapped around, and then down again, a metal-meshing type. On top of the third floor were the remains of a fourth floor, but were built upon by a newer building, one of the upper classmen, obviously, the building newer, shinier, less dilapidated and crummy, the ashes of old swept into the dust that settles on the new.

The floor of Troy was lined in an old cobblestone street, used many years ago, considering Troy was built on an old village. The cobblestones, jagged at their inception, laid in-between a cement lining, had been worn down by hundreds of thousands of feet, now just smooth, pathways of their rebellious previous self, generations ago. They were smooth enough to put in a bed to lie with, the padder of feet across them consistent to the very end. The two sidewalks on each side of the street was rather small, not used to accommodating what Troy became. But, long since past the time the floor was used like that, and a maze of people now wandered the streets.

No longer confined to sidewalks, people roamed across the cobblestone street, side to side, across, about, a gigantic mess of people, heads sticking out above the constantly moving sea, ripples of people running or pushing through seen. A few kids underneath the crowd could be seen, running and playing, most likely pick-pocketing too. The apartment was centered on a T of a street, the building lined with the intersection so it saw all three streets easily, and everything on them. The buildings lined where ever street didn't, ducts of steam flowing out, as well as electrical conduits, sparking with blue life. People ran in and out of the shops, getting groceries, tending to business, doing it all everyday, in the life of a pedestrian.

The streets above them were bustling too, the maze on all buildings above, the streets built like wires of a spider's web, jumping back and forth, uneven and at different heights, railings on each side, the higher class, richer people up there, looking down upon those on the ground floor. _This place definitely has some Zepp interference... _Faces above peered down every so often, the old and faded clothes of the people below nothing like the pressed and ironed suited above. They were educated, smarter, better, welathier, they deserved to be higher, because they could pay for it, the way Troy saw it. Those walkways, the linking bridges between the buildings built higher and higher into the sky, like a Babylonian nightmare, were made of metallic wires, covered in a slab of cement, holding it up into the air for people to walk. No life, no real love was put into those high grounds like the cobblestone below, it was simply effective, economically correct, and good for the rich people up there. They go one building to the next, walking along these pathways, hundreds of them built in the air, linking them as they go higher, sprouting from every building to the walls, to another building, securing them as well as providing transport. It looked like a mechanically infected skyline.

A mother held her boy's hand as they walked to a food stand, selecting items to bring home. A pair of brothers walked through the street, out from a small alley, both having hands in their pockets, heads down, taking care of more shady business. A boy and a girl laughed away the years, many passed to them already, carelessly letting the flow of the surge of people take them where-ever they needed to go. But, of all of the people, everything here, what Quint found the most amazing was the absence of a huge thing amongst such huge proportions as Troy; fear. No one was in fear, looking over their shoulder, listening for alarms or when a soldier might tell them of Gears...they were simple, just living life, doing what they wanted, nothing in the world telling them differently or oddly.

"Come on, we'll be late." Bianca said, pulling on Darton's Seikishidan issue uniform he slept in slightly, pulling him down the steps. _Jeez, I didn't even change clothes...eh, who cares. I'm not even Seikishidan anymore..._

Zeronova's Notes:  
The second half of this (Troy) was tough, real tough, since I wrote it three times, but I didn't want it to feel like a rehash of the original DG, since it is entirely different this time around, and that a big part of the remake is feeling of the environment, characterizing something without life, I have to give Troy that, I have to give it something so different than anything else GG, because it is outside of the U.N., and outside of the Seikishidan. The Justice scene was good and fun, as well as dabbling with Justice's psyche (which has got to be just a little bit fucked up due to a hundred year long war with isolation, in a sense of character and interaction). It all will fit in, it all will be gravy. Next Monday, next chapter. (A little short, compared to some other chapters, but who cares).


	26. Arc 2: Shops and sewage

"Hey Zimmerman" Bianca uttered, the bell hooked b string to the metal door jingling as she entered. The man behind the counter looked up almost immediately, the voice familiar, though she said it as she walked in, almost so much so it was drowned out by the rush of the crowd outside. She stepped in, brushing herself off from the dirt on the crowd she had to press through, nothing much, but she didn't like that feeling.

"Hey Bianca" the man said back, a large paternal smile crossing his lips. She stepped away from the door slightly, another person entering. Zimmerman looked at him too, his hands busy with a rag and an old glass mug, cleaning it, when he stopped, setting both items down on the counter top of the small diner.

"...What are you doing here?" he asked in a low, aggressive tone.

"Whoa, whoa, back up." Bianca said to him, looking at Quint then Zimmerman back. Quint brushed himself off, readjusted his broken collarbone, the arm in sling slipping slightly, his eyes looking around the small diner, situated on a busy street way outside the people so thick that you had to force your way through the crowds, pushing through and being pushed in return, which didn't fare Quint's arm the best. The diner was simply laid out, very effective, yet old. The door, adjacent to the street led straight back, lengthwise for the diner. On the left was a counter top, jutting out of the far wall and wrapping around a few feet from the door, a set of stools in front of the open side of the counter for people to sit, Zimmerman behind it, rows of liquors and ingredients, as well as silverware and kitchen utensils lying in disarray. On the opposite wall as the counter, were two separate tables, each with two chairs, hand made, folded steel and rods, bent into position, crude-welding linking them together with a small square of plastic for one to sit on, the back rest a stiff and straight two bars of metal. The stools were circular metal plates on top of a long pole, simple yet effective.

"We don't like your kind 'round here, 'Kishi'. I don't know how you got in, but make it quick, and get out of here." Zimmerman said low, placing his hands on the counter, a menacing stature and look casting off of him. He was a stout man, short and fat, but had a power underneath his bones from years past in youth. He was balding on top, but seemed as if all of his wayward hair went to his chin, where a huge beard had sprout out, a mix of black and gray, peppered throughout the tangled, rough beard.

"Hey, lay off." Bianca said, walking forward to the counter, leaning over slightly, both arms folded across the crude metal. She had known every crack, every dip in it, she had always been coming here, knew the owner well, and he to her, it was like a place she could come everyday and feel safe. Bits of the metal, the shiny silver, were off-colored, rusted, new pieces welded on to fix holes, the irons and cobalts a noticeable change from the steel, but not like it mattered, Troy was built on foundations of stone and metal, wood being obscure and sought out. "He's with me."

"I'm looking out for you...'Kishi's in Troy is not a good thing. He's trouble."

"Shut up and give us two of the normal, Zimmerman. I'm still a paying customer, you know." He grumbled, nodded, and turned around, picking up a few items, reaching for a pot, fumbling around with a few pieces of food, and started making the "normal". Bianca looked over to Darton, who stood hesitant at the door, unsure of what to do, then she nodded at him to come on over. He walked hesitantly, the two other men in the diner, both old men, worn by years gone by, thin and frail with sagging skin, had intent eyes on him, namely for his suit. They both sat at one of the tables, the two men at the bar on the far side. Quint couldn't help but notice the diner's appeal...it was dark, no light except from the outside, and the walls were warped, water damage and years of use, the paint chipped off and splinters out of the walls easily decipherable, as well as dirt collecting in the corners.

"What's his deal?" Quint said, leaning over the front of the table to whisper to Bianca.

"It's not _his_ deal...it's Troy's. I should have told you, Seikishidan colors don't fly well here."

"Thanks for the heads-up..." he muttered, two plates slamming down in front of them. Zimmerman brought them over, and more or less, dropped them on the table, more towards his disgust of Darton. Bianca muttered a thanks, obviously perturbed by his demeanor towards Darton. The plates were old, cracked in places, discolored and somewhat dirty, but they were glass, a very rare thing nowadays, and a place like this, with glass and drinking mugs, was definitely a hotspot at certain times. A relic of an old world, people lived to indulge in eating off of a plate rather than the normal things they use, most people having their own metallic plate they take with them everywhere, also a mug. The upper levels of Troy enjoyed things like glass and sometimes, wood furnishings, more so than the lower levels of Troy, and the rest of the world, due to their Zepp-influenced superiority.

The food was poorly made, crafted from old utensils and old food, but it was still good to hungry mouths.

"So...what's the deal with the Seikishidan here?" Darton asked, eating rather huskily, not having a full meal in a few days. Bianca finished off another bite, before sitting back to talk.

"Well, you know about Troy, right? Built long time ago, ex-Seikishidan soldiers, specifically outside of the U.N. and the rest of the Seikishidan. Built this place to hold out the rest of the world, none of that crap matters here. No Gears, no governments, except for our own, and any who try to get in here, Seikishidan, U.N., or Gears, don't. It's simple."

"Well, I'm here."

"Yeah...you're no longer a Seikishidan though, so we should get you out of those clothes."

"Good idea, the getting out of my clothes part." he said with a smirk.

"Well, either you get something else on, or you might get jumped, and you don't have any weapons right now." she said, continuing to eat like it was normal. As she said it, Darton's hand reached down to his right side, where there should have been a notch and a strap, holding the hilt of a sword up, hilt first. He had forgotten about it this morning, he didn't have the sort of everyday checklist to go through like in the Holy Order, and that she had it somewhere with her, as she was going to sell it...

"Hmm, when you're right, you're right." he said back, smirking a little, trying not to show a bit of tension he had, not trying to show that now that he knew he was looked down upon, and didn't have a weapon, he was a bit scared, his eyes shooting to people all around. He had noticed a few people shove him in the street more so than was usual, but took no notice of it. Now that he knew, he was a bit more cautious in every move, every breath, since even in Troy, there were muggers and gangs, as there was everywhere.

"So..." Darton mumbled, not knowing what to say, not wanting to be in silence. It wasn't true silence, the blast of the morning crowd outside, packing the streets so the cobblestone underneath become blurred, made more than enough noise, but between him and Bianca, silence was more unnerving.

**It's been a while, dear reader...I haven't had a talking with you, a little explanation and help, I believe, but it is time, very much so. What I come to tell you, interrupting the story, is very vital to it. It's deep though, much so deep. It has to do with this story, itself, why it is written, why something like this is included. Why would I, the author, take such a prevalent part in the writings? It is simple, reader. This isn't just a story, it is a life, lives lived, lives lost, lives persevering. In a form of a story, what more is it than fairy tale, science fiction? To be read and then shut, put on a shelf, never again to see the day of light grace the pages I toil upon?**

**I am a man, I live in these times, despite that I write a story, true, I also write truth. These events, these characters...are not just events and characters in a story, but in life. Life and breath, given to and taken from, not just simply characters in stories...which is where I come in. I am a character in the story also, you could say. Except, I keep my role distinctly outside the focus of the story, my telling of it is directly a character, how I decide to tell events, change some, add some, tweak the people I know in reality to a story, make them better, worse, anything of that sort. That's the purpose of a story, to give a reason to read, an end to a conflict, but the characters have to drive it, and while the real Ky, or the real Quint, might not have been to the T as I describe, it is close, but also so far.**

**I am not them, I cannot write them perfectly, but I do change them, in my authorly concern. It's not that it is for the story, but it is for history. Dust from our bones will be gone in thousands of years, but names will remain. Stories about them will...but this story isn't about just characters to remember, but people to remember, people that made a difference, their stories, their lives. Through a story, I can do anything, but this is life, with a twist of my own accounting.**

**And, while these people are characters none the less, they're still in the realm of my writing, though I try and keep them as true to reality as possible...such as Bianca and Darton. Who knows if they would have thought what they did, said the things they did, events happening word for word, but things happened, an end was met, as was with everyone and everything in the story, to be seen as the final page flips, but that is far from here. These people, these "characters", are not just false, paper-thin cut outs of a literary fashion, but they are living creatures I have tried to capture and put to words...it isn't easy, but it is a task I bring myself to do, for this story, a story of people, needs to be told, this entire thing, needs to be said and done, to people in the future, to those in the past wanting to be remembered, by those who do not of it, it is something that a book, in such times, is worthy of being graced to be read, to be a book in times of none.**

**To Quint and Bianca...if you knew them, you might find faults in my characters that was not truly them, yet the outcome is the same in the end, which cannot be changed or avoided, dependant or not on how I, the author, get there. But, my own personal view on it is definitely interesting, since it is different from anyone else's in the world. This story could be written by a hundred different people, and very much different each time, yet this is mine, my telling of it. And, the characters, the people I portray, under the influence of my pen, do things not exactly as they would, but if they were able to see and read this...they would not be put to shame or disappointed in it...I know that for sure. I write this not for them, not for the times, but because it needs to be written, if it wasn't, the world would be without account, without knowledge, of so many things that it had, so apparent in everyday life to people who lived in this world, but if they looked at it like I did, in book, in writing, things done and taken for granted, everyday actions, are far from it...they're different, once seen from another perspective and such. That is the reason...and I, telling it, have my own view. Who I am factors heavily into that, and you, the reader, should be starting to think "Who is the author?", because that does matter, very much so, to what the story, in the end, truly is.**

"Why did you tell me that last night?" Bianca asked softly, her eyes down on the table, eating her food, not looking up to Darton.

"...You asked. I thought I owed it to tell you."

"Not that...that sort of thing...I wasn't expecting it, I didn't know...I'm sorry. I didn't say it then, but I am sorry." Darton sighed in deeply, looking out to the crowd, then turned back to look at her, smiling slightly.

"Hey, it's over and done, right?" After he finished his sentence, the bell at the front of the store jumped to life, the door opening and a man stepping in. He looked very well-groomed, official, like a government worker. He walked to Zimmerman, eyes not looking at anyone. He simply handed the owner a sheet of paper, and walked out. Bianca stood up, walking over to Zimmerman, Darton only watching her do so. She looked over his shoulder at the paper, him smiling slightly at her there, then she seemed stopped for breath. She slowly looked over at Darton, eyes wide.

"Darton, come here." He was puzzled, but stood up and walked over, leaving a mostly empty plate on the table. He walked next to her, Zimmerman handing him the paper. He looked at it, still puzzled, a mess of small font written all over it, columns and tiny-sized font listing all sorts of things he couldn't read.

"What is it?" he said, squinting at it.

"It's a roster..."

"Of...?"

"The dead at the Parisian H.Q." Bianca said. Then, she reached over Darton's shoulder, her finger resting on a small printed name on the normal-sized piece of paper, plastered with over five thousand names and ranks with their status, both next to each other, in long columns, the entire page printed all over with the names, no space un-used.

"Quint Darton...private...K.I.A." he mumbled, reading off the information. He blinked a few times, then handed the paper back to Zimmerman. The man who walked in was a Troy official worker, and they had received broadcasts of names like that. **Every time a battle, a raid, anything happened, every single personnel in the operation is called over ancient technology, radio waves mostly, and lists are comprised. Name, rank, status. Every soldier in action of a particular operation, who was at the scene, is accounted for by the U.N., then lists, like that one, are compiled and sent around cities, towns, everywhere. it was the only way for people to know about the war, as well as families to know if their beloved ones are ever coming home.**

"It's over and done..." he said again to Bianca, turning her head to him with his right hand slightly, pulling her chin to him. "I'm dead." he smiled.

* * *

"File out!" Ky screamed over the whining engine, finally kicking off as the MT slid to a stop in the moist dirt, wheels put on full stop for over a mile, and just sliding over the dirt, dragging up clods and roots with it. The truck finally came to a slow enough stop, hydraulic doors lowered, the back double doors opened, and soldiers jumped out, strapping on their black helmets, flipping down the visors, grabbing weapons, and jumping out, feet hitting the marshy ground, dirt sticking into the grooves of the soles, and running to the front of the MTs. The other two also stopped in synchrony, soldiers jumping out in a flood of white uniforms and black armor.

The day was prime, the afternoon and a light wind blowing across the tall weeds growing in the sewage dump of Lyon, the swamp around it not the best smelling. Ky stepped off one of the hydraulic panels, watching the soldiers run by him, to the front of the three MTs, where they would form rank. He slowly walked up, his trusted sword in sheath against his leg, his armor a bit constricting but also securing in its tightness and closeness. He carried his black, semi-reflective helmet in his left hand, walking forward. A few A.A.'s filed off behind him, already waiting for their chance to enter the city, do their job. They were walking up and past him, so he stopped one.

"Excuse me" he said to the girl, who turned to him, and stepped back shocked that it was Ky Kiske.

"Yes sir, what is it?" she said anxiously.

"Can you give me some sedatives, I'll need them."

"Of course sir!" she said, reaching into the pouch on her hip, bringing out a syringe and a few pills. Ky reached for the pills, and swallowed them on the spot. _Better do what I can now before my back becomes a problem later._ His gash on his back hadn't healed yet, the thick and deep gash across his shoulder blades still in pain, but it wasn't something like a break, where it'd be impossible to use. In plus, he was the commander of the Seikishidan, dependant or not on injury, he had to do his best.

The A.A.'s settled in behind the soldiers, talking slightly, wondering about how many would be dead, the actual city when they got in after the troops cleared it out, and whatever else they could blather about. Ky walked to the front of the five-hundred-and fifty-four soldiers, seeing the armor over the white, sergeants in the front, followed by lieutenants, and privates in the back, more people as the ranks got lower. Most of them had their helmets on, but a few didn't, the defiant cocky ones, and most of the ones who had them on were the scared ones. Ky stood for a second, looking them over, all of them going silent as he stood in front of them, no more fidgeting and talking, everyone going silent and at attention.

"For all you stragglers who fell asleep last night, this is simple. We have three teams led by three sergeants. Step forward." The three sergeants stepped forward, Rivarez included. Jaygus wasn't a fourth-class sergeant, he was third, and also not picked by the U.N. to be a leader. "You will file under command of these sergeants, equally numbered. We went over this last night, when we commence, get to your group and then we go through here." Ky said, turning back to the huge sewage pipe behind him. It was easily fifteen feet high, over grown with weeds and moss that were invading the cracks and growing like they owned it, bits of vines hanging off the top to the ground, a green glare of the old steel pipe.

"When inside, each sergeant has a map for directions of where to go. Follow them. Also, they each have flare guns." As he said it, Gestahl walked by, handing an antique flare gun and one canister to each of the sergeants, who thanked him with a sir, and put it into their belt. "Signal with the flare if you are attacked before 2400 hours. At 2400 hours, you should be at your designated mission parameter, outside, and securing the area. If you are attacked by Gears, signal with the flare. At 2400, sweep out your central area to your objective point, and head towards the center of the city, sergeants again, you know where this is. Along the way, if you encounter resistance, shoot the flare. If a group sees a flair being shot, everyone get to that position the double, and for those that shoot the flair, stay put in position, as the other two teams are on the way. If all goes well, we should get to the center of the city without resistance, and from there, we do sweeper teams, eradicate the Gears from Lyon." he said professionally.

"That's the mission...but there's more, something that I want to say." Ky paced slowly, closing his eyes and breathing deep. "I will be going with one of the teams, not as a leader, but as a soldier. Sergeants conduct the mission as set, but I am coming in as well. I am a soldier in this war, fighting and killing Gears as well. Where the U.N. tells us to do missions, thinking of only numbers and outcomes, we, the Seikishidan, we get it done, we fight, we give that security. I'm going to be there too, fighting with you, fighting as another human, another soldier against Gears. Let's go." The soldiers felt a boost of morale, their inherent hatred of the U.N. flaring up again from Ky's words, as well as him being there also gave them another shot of hope.

"Move out" he said low and serious, eyes locking upon Gestahl, standing behind the soldiers with the A.A.'s, who seemed a bit annoyed by Ky's words. He inwardly smiled, glad he had angered him, a U.N. dog sitting back as these soldiers in front of him went to give their lives. The soldiers marched forward, following command under one of the designated three sergeants, the large sewage pipe behind Ky being entered, the darkness soon covering them, only a frail memory of light bounding off from the outside along puddles and moss-covered sides of the sewage pipe.

"Don't get ahead of yourself, boy. You got this entire mission riding on your shoulders. And, the way it looks to me...you'll be dead long before tomorrow's dawn." Sol said with a grin, cigarette lingering in his hand, the smoke rising up at a dull, slow pace. he was leaning against the front of an MT, and had spoke as soon as the rush of soldiers had already splashed through the low waters, dirty and bacteria filled, and into the tunnel. Sol strode forward arrogantly, each step preceding his body which seemed a step behind his feet, like a superior air about everything he did over everyone else. He held his sword down, the dull rectangular edge gliding through the swampy puddles of the sewage drain, the water bubbling around the tip of the sword, steam rising up from the water which seemed only volcanic around the blade, the rest still and morbid. Sol strode past Kiske, who stood in the same position, in front of the pipe where the soldiers had just filed through, now Sol brushing by with a _tsk_ seething from his lips. Kiske took one more look at the afternoon day, the sky of outside of Lyon, Gestahl and the A.A.'s looking at him back, standing in front of the three huge MTs, hydraulic doors on the sides still propped down into the dirt, slight clouds lingering in the sky, the high sun casting a hot beat that the light moist wind from the south-west dissipated. He took one last deep breath, turned to the pipe, put on his black helmet, and walked inside, trailing one of the units, opposite of one Sol trailed.

* * *

It was silent...their plods footsteps in the sewers the only complacent thing to soothe their growing fears. None dared to talk, the slightest mumble carrying out an echo for eternity that would come back to smash the one who uttered it, leading Gears to them, or fear itself killing them, those around giving stares of spears to shut that person up.

The pipes were tall, twelve feet, and wide, enough to accommodate three people walking side by side, albeit the person in the center only had the level walking ground, over grown with rodents and plants as well, so the paths were mostly tread in single file, the last few people in line keeping patrol to the back, as to not be ambushed. The front few kept a patrol ahead about ten meters, leaving the rest behind to clear the way, the sergeant packed into the front 2/3 section, near the front to lead, but also securely protected by other soldiers, since he was the most vital part of the operation.

The streets above were lined with small slats on the side-walks, allowing sewage to drain into the massive pipes. Every five feet was another slat, a few feet long, then five feet of cement, and another. They let in the fading light in bars of gold, unspendable echoes of prosperity, the soldiers walking through them, admiring it, for they might never again. Across the sewage slats, blood could be seen. The crimson dripped down into the sewers, staining and flowing outward, the residue left in a brown, dried stain, cracked and dusty, mixing with dust in the air if blown. Pieces of rotting flesh and sinew were strewn about in places, rat feeding off of it, the innocents killed and slashed, pieces thrown down into the gutters. An arm hang into the gutter, the dead body having fragments and tattered pieces of cloth hanging from the body, a face outside of the sewer, eyes open in a ghastly scream only eternity would hear, the body covered in its own blood.

They continued to walk, their slow and somewhat ghastly pace syncing in step with each other, foot following foot, the displacing of water under boot, trickling down the sides of the tube as it was kicked up, a scurry of animals fleeing out of the way and a few sighs, grunts, collective chokes, and an anxiety that spread through all soldiers, all three teams. Some were anxious to fight, anxious to get it on, kill some Gears, see action. Others, anxious for something to happen, afraid of silence and afraid of darkness, the unknown reaching out to grab them and never let go, they were scared.

While all three teams were led by the map-carrying, flare-holding sergeants allocated to each, each had a notable figure in the helm. The first one had Ky Kiske, who put leadership onto the fourth-class sergeant of the group, but he seemed a bit scared to order Ky, instead making hand signals and whispers to soldiers around him, directing the course and what to do, expecting Ky to follow, scared of his reaction or simply what could happen if he did order his superior, despite that his superior was in control of the mission by name, yet he had the control, which Kiske let him have, despite his unwillingness to have.

The second group was under the control of Sergeant Rivarez, the soldier who had come out of the bar to greet Ky upon his arrival back from the U.N. He was a stickler for service duty, wanting "sir" and salute, to the letter. He would perform a perfect operation, and so would his men. If he was going to get commendation from Kiske, he would work for it. Not like he needed it anyway, he was a fourth level sergeant, the highest rank under commander. While soldiers were usually promoted quickly, due to the death common in the wars, he had held the position a few years running, in his mid 20's. He had worked hard to earn it, and would show that he deserved it to the commander, the one who mattered.

**Every base had a few fourth-class sergeants on board, and if they didn't, they'd promote some up. All bases had a status quo of at least three fourth-class sergeants, it had to have that many or more to take control over the troops effectively and efficiently, or else there would be a lack of super structure. While these soldiers, promoted or not, were fourth-class, they had no real power, except over other soldiers. Most bases had government officials, soldiers above rank and above taking orders to run things. Mothers and sons, I guess. A son can grow to be a leader, stronger and quicker than any man, the best in the world at everything, yet his own mother can control him, not on strength, or speed, or in any feat or anything, because her son is greater than her, but because of that authority, which his mother always has on him, no matter how old, no matter anything. These soldiers above rank were not really Seikishidan soldiers per say, but were in the end. They sure as hell weren't U.N., but they acted more like a U.N. personnel would, considering their control over bases, maintaining and checking for smooth operation.**

The other group had Sol Badguy, smoking a cigarette, each lazy step trailing the tip of his sword as it rolled and clanked over anything in the sewer, twinges of flame emitting in its wake, like small match heads being lit as the tip touched, a tiny fire sprouting to life in an orange blossom, then fading out seconds later, a dull orange glow surrounding him. He walked in front of the rest, not caring about fear or what would happen, knowing where he was going, and they'd all be following.

_So...these 'Kishi's think they got this all planned out. A bit of recon, get to the point, wait for nightfall, spring attack, head to center of city, kick ass of Gears. Pretty easy plan...it'll definitely have a ton of dead soldiers, that's for fuck's sake sure, but the way that sergeant back there, the way he keeps glancing at the map from the light up above, directing with his wobbling finger, he's like a kid. I know where we're going, and I never seen the goddamn map. I remember, 2048, I think, I was here...nice vacation, had to get off after finally taming it, enjoy the country side without worries of anything. If there was one thing I remember about that shitty trip to Lyon_ _back then, it was that mugger who got in my way. White lab coat, he ripped it, not like it mattered, piece of shit was old and tattered, I had it for...decades...but it still shouldn't have been destroyed by that punk who tried to take my wallet, despite I didn't have one for him. But, I had something for him. Broke the bastard's neck, and he deserved it. Back before all this, and humanity was giving itself the big dick in its own ass, but we have Justice now to just use it. Good job, bitches...and now we see what we got now, more humans and Gears to fight and die, as per usual this war. Oh well, when it's all over, maybe they'll have some cigs in one of these shops, I'm running low._

---  
Zeronova's Notes:  
Dun dun dun! We have Sol thinking to himself...and about a time he couldn't possibly be alive in! The mystery! Anyway, Chapter 26, there it was. We got a huge battle coming up, the siege of Lyon...it won't be nearly the volume that the Seikishidan H.Q. was, but it'll be a good fight, don't worry. We've had enough calm since Chapter 16, time for some action. Oh yeah, this is being posted in November, and I wrote it August 13th, time really is a bitch when you get the fingers typing, and the week-a-chapter rule gets in your way. Shame. Oh well, you know what happens next chapter, so don't miss it! Find out next time on the amazing, daring, dashing, and dangerous Desolate Gail! Dun dun dun! (I've been watching old 1950's action shows lately, meh).  
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	27. Arc 2: And lo, the battle begins

The sergeant held the map like it was a rope on life, hanging from it was his only preserver between him and death. His free hand shook slightly, pointing soldiers in directions, covering posts and setting up. The small sewer tunnel ended abruptly, a large barricade of rubble caved into the walk way. The metal had been crushed inward, rocks and tar above filtered in, crushing the rest of the end of the sewage pipe, a bit of moss already reaching up with spindly green fingers to grab the rubble in its infectious grip. Good thing their exit point was about ten feet short of the destruction, so they were still go on their mission.

The exit point for each team was a mechanical entry way for maintenance and fixing, a breach in the tunnel to the outside where crews would come in annualy, clean out the pipes, make fixes to where the drains had been broken, punctured valves and ruptured water-passages, doing the same as the Seikishidan, walking through the 12-foot high tunnel-like sewage pipe. Along the walk their were many smaller pipes running along the ceiling and sides of the tunnels, swerving off into the cement, jumping out, crossing around, carrying water to and from, electrical, and other wires in tubes stretching all around, the real underworkings of Lyon under the cement and under the view of the normal citizen. The mazes of tubes and pipes in the one large sewage duct were over grown with weeds and vines, hanging from like home owners looking disdainfully on passing residents, the over grown algae giving it a slight glow from the darkening sky.

They had walked leisurely to this point, not taking too long, since it was past noon barely when they started, and despite Lyon being a big city, they kept their pace slow, since they had to wait until the dead of midnight to start their attack. Most hoped that they could at least get the attack started at midnight, not before. **Soldiers, and for the most part, humanity, didn't know the true ability of Gears. Could they smell humans? Could they see in the dark? What was their real strength? How long could they live for? What are the types, differences in how they're made, classification? It was all basically a mystery, except that you could spot a Gear easily, through their grotesque appearance, or if it was Justice. Few Gears though, and rumored of Justice as well, had great lengths of humanity in them, with the Gear effects also.**

**And, what I mean by such a broad statement is simple. Look at Testament. He's had a small part thus far in the story...but he was there. Testament is Justice's commander of his armies. While Testament is still a Gear, under Justice's direct control, he is more human than any normal Gear, as looking at him would tell. His skin is not rotting, no deformed bones, no hideously animalistic qualities. He looks human, has eyes, hair, clothes...except for his pale skin, red eyes, and super human strength. He can talk, think...and some say that this has to do with the way Gears are made. Everyone knows back in 2075, when Justice became operational and started the war, that whatever Justice was before the operation, had been worked on for years, taken time to fine tune the DNA and being known as Justice, before slapping on the battle suit. This sort of level of engineering left Justice a Gear still, a sentient Gear, not mindless drones that were easy to make, quickly made, and good at their job, but they were nothing more than bodies to be controlled, they had no reasoning, no thought, except for small urges of normal animalistic behavior, like the way they moved or mouth hanging open.**

**Testament was rumored to have been taken by Justice, a human, and transformed to Gear. Being transformed is just a matter of slapping in new DNA to a pre-existing creature, using magic to solidify the bond, mutating the DNA into part of the creature, not like a cancerous growth of new DNA, but making that DNA part of the creature in every aspect, mutating it, simply. WHere the starting creature and infused DNA really dictates what it will end up being, those certain mixes, how much, how little, how made, can really determine a Gear, a true Gear in how it acts, looks, strength, everything, as DNA does as well. But, when the host is cultured, turned with special DNA fragments and nurtured with the transformation, it can keep part of itself, as well as embracing the new DNA, becoming a Gear. Testament is obviously free-willed, but to a point. He cannot truly control himself, but he has humanity in him, that is for sure, yet he is a Gear regardless. Not like the thousands and millions fought and killed for a century, he is like Justice, a methodical, thinking Gear. Not quite on par with Justice, since he cannot control, but he is much ahead of the normal stupid soldiers, but Testament was also a pet project of Justice's, no doubt. And, for very special reasons, though that'll be known later. I kind of veered off course, but this is interesting information still needed to be told, anyway...**

The soldiers spread themselves out as according, fifty or so near the barricade, just in case a Gear decided to go cavalier and bust through, a hundred at the pipe they just walked past, and the rest hanging around the sergeant near the door, the higher ranks with the sergeant, the privates standing where a Gear attack might come from. 2400 was approaching fast, night consuming the sun, no moon out tonight, dark gray clouds embracing it, like a light swimming poetic line in the sky, daintily coasting along until it came near the just-past-full moon, and embraced it, sucking it into its false etiquette, and drowning it in the gray wisp, encircling it, grabbing a hold and blanketting it in, like the clouds had a wager on the night, and didn't want even the moon to interfere with what could happen. Seems even the dimly lit nocturne knew of the mission, and what it entailed, snaring its own view off to not witness the carnage.

"Let's get to it" Sol mumbled, standing up from his resting position, leaning against the wall of the pipe, arms crossed. He pushed off, standing straight, the tunnels echoing the splash of water under his boots and demanding the attention of all of the soldiers who were silent as the grave, waiting for the Gears. "It's 2400, let's move."

"No...it's not..." the sergeant said, fumbling through papers, coming up with a small chronometer, unable to read it in the darkness.

"It's midnight, asshole, now let's move." he said, leaning down in front of the sergeant who stammered, and accepted, motioning for soldiers to move around and get to posts. Sol had that aura, that simple power he demanded in each word and each gesture that left others coerced by force into obeying him, despite orders or opinion, his presence was over powering.

The auxillary maintenance hatch was built into the top section of the pipe, spanning a quarter length, 8 feet long. It was on metal sliding hinges, pieces of wrapped metal the edges fit into and slid through and across, as they would have slid horizontally open, but they weren't now. It had been close to a year since their last opening, and bits of vines and rust had grown over the metal hatch, the two pieces connected together at the center of the bevelled opening, each piece four feet long, and interlocked with each other, unable to open. An electric motor used to power it, before it was destroyed by Gears, the two halves of steel locked irreversibly with each other.

The sergeant fumbled around with the instruments he had, the map, a compass, a chronometer, trying not to lose the flair gun tucked in his belt, he couldn't find the instructions to open the hatch. He told a few soldiers to try and pull it open, see what happened, but it was electronically shut, beyond the strength of any man to move.

"Uh...how are we supposed to get into the city now, Sarge?" a lieutenant asked hesitantly, whispering it.

"Shut up and work no it, soldier." he growled, searching every pocket.

"I don't got time for this shit" Sol muttered, flicking out a dying butt from his lips, the ashes splittnig from the cigarette home and spreading out in a display of orange before it sizzled to a cold, dead shell of itself on the moist floor of the sewage pipe. He put the Fuurenken down, leaning the Fire Seal agaist one wall, steam rising off of the bottom of the pipe where the tip was touching. Both of his hands donned finger-less gloves, reaching up past his wrist, then cut off by a dull blade, the hardened cloth jagged. It was a Seikishidan standard gauntlet padding, underneath the armor, and he had cut it off. he also wore a Seikishidan rank-signifier between his legs, a long strip of cloth that reached to the top of his chest, underneath the belt, and hung lazily down to his knees. He had cut the top part off, only keeping the bottom part, the red color matching his red head band, and showing he was a sergeant in the Seikishidan before he split ways.

He reached his fingers into the maintenance door, the heavy doors locked together with two halves of a circular lock that met, and twisted itself around, locking both pieces together with a nearly unbreakable bond, except if the power surged through it once more, unlikely. The soldiers had focused their attention on him now, wanting to see what was happening, due to their stuck situation and Sol's presnece, the sergeant cursing in a low tone to watch their posts, don't be distracted, but it hardly had much effect. He grunted, his fingers bracing along the cold metal, and pulled. His feet slipped under the curved arc of the tube, but he quickly regained, body buckling under the pressure, muscles bulging slightly from where they were dormant on his body, now accenting itself in the animalistic power it had over a more speedy and lithe Ky Kiske.

He grunted again, a low cry of metal. All soldirs were now looking, the noise drawing them, and the authority Sol's presence demanded. Another grunt of pain, and the metal bent under the weight, the steel plates giving into the power, circular lock cracking down the middle, the metal shards breaking and falling to the floor with an anything-but-subtle _clang_. The slightly bent inward pieces, now removed of their locks, were shoved to each side along their tracks, a bit of sanguid blood dripping in from a body above, the poold blood sitting on the top that had now been moved. Sol bent over himself, breathign heavily, sounding as if two voices were breathing in the place of one that was just put into effort. His eyes were closed as he did, slowly standing up, low pops from his back and muscles as they realigned themselves to his body. he took one final breath of duallity, then coughed, a more normal voice in place.

"Get yer asses movin'" he mumbled, grabbing his sword again and leaping out of the tube, the eight foot incline up to the bottom of it, and then up another foot to the street. The sergeant stood dumb founded, eyes still wide at the feat performed in front of him.

"...No man could have done that..." he muttered in disbelief. A hand came from behind him, grabbing him on the shoulder and shaking him to reality.

"Hey, don't forget at Bordeaux, this guy wasn't too normal." The sergeant sneered at the lower-level sergeant who had touched him and been unformal to a C.O., but he quickly shook it off, and ordered the soldiers to move out into the streets of Lyon.

Lyon itself had been in the middle of a renaissance, transitioning into Lyon-2, after it was destroyed somewhere ni the 2080's, and never rebuilt, until about three years ago when a few brave people came out to live in it, start rebuilding, but it never became a full fledged city, ended before it began. It had a central hub of people, brimming over to about three thousand, but was still rather small, compared to Neo-Troy, or Dresden-4, but there was no shortage of carnage. The city, which still retained its former self, the destroyed and emptied city of years past, had that feeling still, buildings unoccupied and dead for decades never rennovated or rebuilt, only a select few done so near the central hub of life in the short-lived life of Lyon-2. The streets still catered to old conventional cars, fading white and yellow paint lnies smeared by years of sitting in the sun and not re-done. The city had seen better days, but remained intact to the day it was destroyed, buildings mere skeletons of themselves, the rubble underneath them, which used to be top floors, lyign in disarray at the foot, bits of soot and dust layered on the top, like an old graveyard undisturbed by time.

A few small fires raged in the distance, near the center of the city, where the people had lived, but there were bodies strewn even at the entrance to the sewage maintenance hatch. People had fled, tried to escape, every way possible, and considering a body out here, he got pretty far before getting a Gear's hand through his back. The moon still was enveloped in its duskly embrace, leaving little to no light as a guiding mark. The soldiers filed out, taking in the ghost city, a slight wind whistling through the shattered glass windows and corpses of buildings and humans. They set up a perimeter around the opening, a twenty foot radius wall of soldiers, keeping an eye for any movement, any life, any Gears. They all kneeled down or layed flat, not wantnig to be seen or heard, the leading sergeant standing in the middle, near Sol, who sat no an old piece of rubble lazily, leaning on a perched up knee.

"We have to go..." the sergeant said, twisting the map to look at the compass, then a direction "there." he said, pointing down a street with an pale orange glow emanating from around the corner.

"You sure?" Sol said, an arrogant smirk on his lips.

"Yes, I am." the sergeant said back, sneering.

"Don't you misfire..." he joked, pushing off of the rock and standnig up. The soldier looked at him awkwardly, questionnig.

"'Don't you misfire'?" he asked, quoting Sol.

"The compass, don't get the wrong coordinates."

"But what about misfiring?" the soldier persisted, not taking something like that for an answer. Sol sighed, taking a step forward, his massive body scaring the soldier slightly with his strength in presence.

"Queen." he said, serious to the stubborn soldier. The sergent rolled his eyes, not knowing what Sol was even meaning, walking forward to where the old compass told him. _Damn, these bitches don't know real music...can't really expect them to, I guess, been a long time since I've rock and rolled, and them too...when this war is over, I'll find every single old record, and make a nice stack of 'em, relive the old days._

* * *

_Wait...just wait...let me see him. Move forward 2.31 meters, slowly, good. Zoom in...ah, perfect. I see you, Kiske. We see each other again. Let him have some time, stay in wait. Quadrant 31 section 7C, stay in place, do not move, keep breathing to a 2.2 PSI intake and out take, slow... You got out slowly, looking around, the soldiers following. It's so obvious, your tactics and patterns, predictable and text book...secure allies and dark spots, but soldiers in wait, set up command, plot next course after a fifteen minute interval of silence and not moving...then head to the center of the city, right? That's so typical, standard Seikishidan operation._

_What's that? Alert, unit 24601 has a proximity error...seems a Seikishidan is getting too close to it. The alley way across from the sewage opening...they're securing perimeter. Let him live, and if he gets too close as to where he'll see you, kill him silently, don't let him scream, don't let him do anything. If he stays his distance and slacks off, like most soldiers under Kiske's lead, let him live. He'll be dead by dawn anyway._

_Searching the alley, kicking around rubble and debris, I can see you in the dark. You're scared, each step thinking to be your last, I can tell your heart beat…102 beats per minute, and your breathing is erratic. Are you scared, human? You should be…only two meters away is your enemy, your death. Turn now, walk back out, tell Kiske it is safe, do it…for your fear, pathetic wretched human. I can smell your fear, in every bead of sweat and every stifled breath…there, he left, without knowledge of the Gears in the alley or those on the rooftops. Pathetic human…only shows how worthless your race is, by the merit of the normal one. The normal soldier, normal person, his endeavors truly measure the race, not leaders like Kiske or murderers like Frederick, but the average one…the only that stands as a being of normalcy amongst the herd, the stereotype and populace…not the leaders or figure heads._

_What's that to say of me? Gears populace are dumb brutes…idiots controlled by my will, yet alone without me, they'd be nothing. So, judge Gears by me or by the populace? Ha, like it matters, they're not sentient, humans are…they're weak because of their thought, Gears prevail because of unrelenting loyalty and no thought, just orders. But, then the only real Gear worthy of judging is me, and I am of more than mere classification, not to any. And, who would classify me, show of my race to be better? Certainly not humans, but then who would look upon what I have made and done, and proclaim it great and amazing? God? Of course not, He is not with my, and I not him, we are at ends…eternally bound by our hatred of each other and continuing battle of control over such a world and these people…God may be my enemy after Kiske, Him the only one left in my path after the humans…yet, if I killed humans, I kill God, right? Dogmatic law, as well as that if none is there to praise Him or believe in Him, would He exist? Do you live in the minds and fears of the people you rule over? An intangible leader…killing those in whom you dwell kills you…same as I. God, you and I, not so different, but being so alike, we're bound by fate to be adversaries, except I can fight my own battle…I need not use my minions and soldiers to the fullest extent, I can fight, I can do so with my soldiers, unlike You…but, let the best God be the victor, I suppose._

_Enough thinking, don't lose sight of the fight, of Lyon._

_Switch to quadrant 74I, unit 87123. Ah, another sweeper team. Coming out of the same type of sewage system…securing the area, making sure the leader in the middle is top priority and seen above the rest. Holding the map scared, looking around…you're trying to figure out which way is north, where to go. North is that way, thirty-two degrees to your left…but you wouldn't know. _

"Warning, proximity detection breached, invading units to proximity quadrant 30" Siren said in the female electronic voice, devoid of life and feeling, only simple and sweet satisfaction in facts.

_What…they're on the move. Kiske is taking his troops towards the center of the city…track him. Switch to 24601 again…ah, there you are Kiske. There's no light out tonight, it's dark, and it makes it easier for me to pin point and kill you…it's the glow. That bastard's weapon…the blue glow of it, I see the tingling electricity coming off of the blade resting in your hands. It's jumping all over the blade in excitement…dancing along the ground and around in an azure ballet…it can feel that I am near, the Gears sitting and waiting in the darkness, it can feel it. Power signatures read it to be operating at over 350 degrees Celsius…yet it is as cool as pond water to you, right Kiske? The blade…the properties it has, the bastard made it specifically for the purpose of killing Gears, it knows how to use and kill Gears, yet remain harmless to humans. There, the electricity pulses up and down your arm, surging through the fabric and into your skin, then jutting out again…you with no problem with it, no feeling, no pain, nothing from it…magical, as they say. Unnatural bolts, but it's no foolery, just technology, absorbing and conducting electrons on frequencies that only affect beings infused with higher-than-normal magic levels, a specific level, who knows, only Frederick, but those bolts…they know, they can feel a Gear different from humans, and they kill with lethality to them. And, for non-living things, it's normal lightning bolts…which doesn't run on a magic-infused level of symbiotic life…magic and organisms feeding off each other, it exists in harmony in the environment, no need for alteration and changing, only normal lightning then. Damn you, Frederick…such things, you created, so long ago, yet they still work and still used in the hands of the skilled…_

_Follow on pursuit, slowly…match speed, keep your noise to less than 2 decibels…if a Gear goes over, have it killed by another near it, and make sure that is not higher than 2 decibels…I do not want them to know our presence…not yet, let them think it is vacant, let them gather themselves, cornered and then, we strike…we all will, Gears in glorious harmony, not even evangelic harmonies of Michael's wrath could rival what will happen in that Biblical astounding sense…You should learn a lesson or two God, because this will be in my Bible, and You…Yours will be a lost chapter, never revealed, sending others to do your work intangibly, but not I, I will be here, to rule and dictate, to be a God…in every way._

"It's been all day…what's on your mind?" Bianca asked, walking with her hands in her pockets, looking down at the ground, her feet kicking up small pebbles, watching them tumble along. Darton breathed in deeply, snapped from thought, then looked over to her, trying to remember the question, then that too snapping back to him.

"Oh, nothing."

"You're a terrible liar." Bianca said, smiling while looking over at him slightly.

"You seem to have a knack to understanding me." She smiled again at the compliment.

"Well, maybe I should be. After all…dead men are hard to understand."

"Well, speaking for my kind, I think that you make an unfair assumption. Among us dead, we have great men from times past, living forever in name and reputation…we're a lot better off dead than alive, you never know an alive guy till he dies."

"Is that so?" Bianca said, stopping slightly, looking at him with a sarcastically fun grin. Darton stopped walking also, looking back over at her.

"Sure, I mean, look at all those famous guys who wrote the books hundreds of years ago, and the guys who drew the paintings…" he said, motioning with his hands of their endeavors in a mildly humorous act, bringing a smile to Bianca's jovial face. "And, then, you know, there is that one guy from a _long_ time ago that a lot of people know." Bianca started trotting again, poising her question.

"And what guy was that?" As soon as she finished, a loud _thunk_ emitted the empty streets of Troy, her foot smashing into a small rock protruding out of the cobble stone road, smoothed by time, but still a jut. "Jeez, I can be blind sometimes" she said, leaning down slightly on the hurt side.

"They say this special guy a long time ago could heal blind people." He said with another grin. She thought for a second, then looked back at Darton, shoving him slightly.

"Member of the Seikishidan making jokes about the Bible after he's dead…you're one hell of a walking contradiction." Bianca smirked.

The streets of Lyon were relatively empty this time of night, the moon covered in a veil of darkness, choking and asphyxiating Luna in her own venomous luminescence. Lights shown down unnaturally from the lights on the webbed buildings above, hundreds of feet high, the orange glow filtering down through other buildings and smog to the streets below, in a faux heavenly gospel of light. They had just been walking the town all day, after the diner incident, Darton made a point of it to switch out of his Seikishidan garbs. **Something I left out, a small scene…not too important, for now, but I'll basically give you the narration, since I like to keep time frames relatively in check, but this happened after the diner incident, before Seikishidan troops landed in Lyon, so, about afternoon. Basically, what happened after they left Zimmerman's, Bianca brought Darton back to her place, had him change. They both made a deal, that if Darton wears these clothes that Bianca had, which were rather ratty and, well, Troy like (old, used…from worlds since forgotten), that Darton wouldn't wear his Seikishidan garbs, and of course, he really didn't want to either. So, they both had a complacent agreement on that. Both had good reason and good plans for it. Darton, well, he wasn't an Holy Order soldier anymore, no reason to fly their colors, and he didn't want to get a knife in the back. Bianca because of the whole Darton getting killed equals bad, and she really didn't like seeing Seikishidan paraphernalia as much as the next Trojan.**

"Oh, I almost forgot" she said, stopping suddenly. Darton stopped too, looking at her curiously. She lowered her head menacingly, an evil smile on her face, and approached him, Darton taking a step back as she got closer to him. Her face was inches from his, a little bit of seductiveness about her. "You owe me a drink."

Zeronova's Notes:  
Well, that's 27 (this chapter took me like a week to write). The battle is slowly coming…so slowly…but I keep it interesting, hopefully. Anyway, wow, this is really hitting home for me, coming so far, so much in DG:DE. Everyone's first story they set out is supposed to be an amazing story, better than anything they will ever write, something they had in their minds ever since inception of creative thought, and when they first get the chance to write, it is that story…well, mine wasn't really this story (I didn't always know of GG), but this was my first story, and seeing it evolve and keep going like this, it really makes me feel great, knowing that it keeps going, and is always zooming forward…I'll finish it this time, I will, and it'll be the fulfillment of a personal vendetta with my own writing demons to finish. Then again, this is chapter 27, and I have…nearly 20 more, quite possibly more. So, keep it tuned.


	28. Arc 2: Nobody said bourbon was sweet

Despite that the hour was just limping past midnight, the streets of Troy were empty, yet the bars were full. People of all types came in to the bars, whistling for drinks, laughing in high spirits with whoever was next to them, instantly becoming their best and life long friend, if only for a few intoxicated hours. Others seemed to come in with the stealthiness of a shadow, get what they wanted, and sit unperturbed from anyone else, or promptly leave, a few disgraceful words from the other drunkards, but nothing amounting to it. A few people were also normal, enjoying their drinks, but neither being drunk, ranging everywhere from cheap muggers and street-dwelling vagabonds, to men in business suits who had come down to the street-level for some cheap liquor, and later, cheap thrills. The bar itself was pretty small, the front door a metallic criss-crossing mesh of steel rods, known to have stopped more than its share of robbers in their way in or out, dry blood stains all over the floor, in nearly every direction, the establishment seeing over thirty years of service. From the front door was a long hallway to the rest rooms, and two small ramps to the right of the hallway led down to the drinking area, a rounded bar top with stools set up around it, as well as a few old booths surrounding the bar, seperated by a narrow alley to walk. All of it was old, consisting of darkened cloth, a sat-in stink that wouldn't go away, and a lingering alcohol in it, as well as rips, tears, years of use and abuse, and what not, but for a street-level bar, it was more than acceptable. For the same price, they could be out buying the same liquor from people in alleys, but the establishment helped its customers come back again. One of the booths had Bianca and Darton, sitting opposite each other.

"You really were serious about that?" Darton said with an unsure chuckle, scratching the back of his head.

"I said you owed me a drink, I meant it." She said, smiling. She knew he had no money, she knew he couldn't pay or he wouldn't know how to, but either way, she liked to say those sorts of things, those sorts of little nuances and flirtatious things, it was in her nature. "You can repay me other ways, though." Darton's interest perked slightly, leaning forward, looking at her with a wry smile, asking what. "Tell me some more things about you."

"Oh jeez, always wanting to know about me and my past. What's with you, Trojan?" he said with a sarcasm. "Seikishidan boy comes in, let's poke him with sticks and pry him for information!" he said with undue sarcasm, a nudging kick in the shin from Bianca underneath the scratched and potholed table top seperating them. The kick wasn't hard or meaningful, just part of the act, which they both played out with each other perfectly. "Honestly, I've told you some things I've not told other people, though…ever…" he said, looking away at the rest of the bar, not wanting to look Bianca in the eyes. Finally, his gaze was drawn back magnetically. "I feel safe sometimes, being able to say things to you, or with things I have had inside of myself for so long, never put to words, I don't even know how to tell them…but I told you, I told you about my past, I never told anyone about that." They both sat silent for a minute, before Quint continued. "You already know some things about me, how about you, Bianca? Your turn, time to tell." Bianca rolled her eyes, laughing slightly, then looked back, thinking for a second.

"Well, what?" she said, putting on another act, as if she had nothing to say or didn't know.

"Come on, you live in Troy, and you live alone. That's gotta be a story." Quint said, serious in a deliberate way.

"Jeez, you cut right to the point. Fine, where to start? You're right, I live in Troy, I live alone. I've lived in Troy ever since I remember, but I'm not from here. I was raised in that apartment…relatively alone. Ever since I was a child, I remember being there, alone…that couch there, the rooms how they are. Over years, I added some furnishings of course, but that's always been my home. Since I was…four or five, when I remember, I always lived there, and when I needed anything, I just went down to the streets, grabbed what I needed from the trashes, stole a couple of wallets, and found people who were willing to help me out whenever I needed it…"

"Zimmerman." Quint said in her absence of words.

"Yeah, like Zimmerman. But, that's the story of Troy. I just kind of grew up outside of families, outside of society, in my own little apartment on the third story of a building built on top of another. I always found myself looking upward, thinking if my parents, my family, had dropped me from one of those higher buildings, and I landed here…that one day, they would come find me, and take me back up to those buildings up top…the ones that look as if they're stabbing the sky. But, it never happened…I only know bits of how I came to be in Troy."

"Started out kind of like every other story you hear about Gears and death, but basically, I was an orphan, parents couldn't take care of me, threw me at some instution, never came back. I was a few weeks old at this point, and the orphanage took me in. When I was about three, they say that the city was attacked…somewhere in Italy…and the refugees fled, trailed by Gears, no Seikishidan to be found, they said, and Troy took us in, fought off the Gears, and a few of us made it in. The nanny of the orphanage only got me and a few other children in, and from what I heard, soon as the gates closed behind her and she was inside, all of us safe, she fell down dead, severe exhaustion and blood loss, not to mention a few stabs and slashes. Old ladies carrying a few children and on the run from Gears don't mix. And, from the point I can remember, I always lived in that small shit hole." Darton sat silent listening, just watching her demeanor as she told the story in a low tone, almost a whisper, like it was confidential, her eyes transfixed on a rut in the surface of the table, her head leaned down slightly, not looking at him.

"Well, it's in the past, not much to say about it. But, you got something to tell me now, one for one." She said, smiling out of habit and having to force it, her memories being driven back into nostalgic seclusion in her own mind. _Perks of living alone, kiddo. You can control your emotions and thoughts when you need to, unlike Darton, who kind of exploded on me last night…can't blame him, he had a bit of a worse experience than I, but still…_

"Well, what?" he asked, mocking Bianca's previous situation. She gave him back the look that he gave her, and he sighed in defeat. "Alright, alright. So…"

"You told me about your past. You never told me why you came with me."

"Yeah, I did. In the boat, said I was sick of it all."

"Darton, I know something happened in that headquarters…something you haven't told, haven't wanted to say…I'm not that dumb, but I never brought it up. Now's the time. I want to know. There's more to your reason."

"You're good, remembering all the little things, as well as being pretty damned shrewd too."

"Well, you gotta tame me before I won't be." She said seductively, taking a drink from a recently arrived two small glasses filled with a house-special bourbon, brewed in the back, most likely flavored with whatever trash they threw in it to give it some added flavor, probably a boot, by the taste, but no one said bourbon was a sweet drink either.

"I will eventually, if it's in the cards." He said with a wry smile. He set his own glass back down, Bianca's echoing his as both simultaneously slapped down onto the table between them, the contents sloshing around slightly before settling back down. "Anyway…well, you know the debrief on the mission right?"

"'Course, came in with the rosters this morning. Attacked, band of survivors made their way to Floor F, got out by tether, only two survived, Kiske and then some other guy."

"That's the basic story. Real basic…it started out pretty normal, I remember being in my bunk, sitting there, being late as usual, so I finally got dressed, and headed down to get something to eat before doing whatever it was I did in that place, considering I wasn't a very good soldier, and that I didn't even remember my assignment. Then, all of a sudden, the place goes ape shit. Lights bust out of the walls, sirens screech, and soldiers burst out of the rooms, cafeteria, all running the opposite way of me, I'm taken into the storm, next after that, the entire base was on call in the cargo room. I don't know if you saw it or not, but the cargo room is on Floor C, it has a lot of huge steel doors for the MTs to unload or load, park inside, whatever. Kiske gave a speech, told us the Gears were coming, they murdered the sentires before they could warn us, we'd have no time to prepare, it was now. They always preached about always being ready in the worst damn situations, when unexpected and unprepared, they weren't shitting you." He said, smirking with another gulp of the liquor, setting down an empty glass, drops of remaining bourbon sliding down the sides and pooling in the center of the bevelled cup.

"So, we got a little speech from Ky, half assed no less. Definitely a kid, he is…he's not as good as Kliff was at speeches or morale, he just gave a speech as best as a sixteen year old could. Not bad, but not nearly good enough for the situation. The other soldiers bought into it, their blind patriotism and bullshit kind of getting in the way of reality, but hell, that's the Seikishidan, right? The glimmer wore off for me long before, others still saw it. Anyway, we go out of the cargo room, into the fields in front of the H.Q., and the Gears are there waiting for us. Justice wasn't going easy, he really wanted to kill us, he even sent his second in command"

"Testament?" she butted in, anxiously wanting to know, one of her hands resting on the table, other propped up on her chin, arching forward slightly, listening intently, looking at Darton, but eyes elsewhere, envisioning.

"…Yeah, Testament." _How would she know about…who cares, she's a fake A.A., she probably gets around, hears shit, and that despite this is Troy, they do get shit like the K.I.A. lists, so they're not really detached._ "Anyway, we were driven back, into the H.Q., to the back of it, the very back of Floor C. I was running, soldiers all around me being flanked, and then brilliant Ky decides to use that lightning sword of his, and blows out a hole in the walkway, a hole that takes out more than a chunk of Floor C, but an entire twenty feet. So, I fell down to Floor B, the Gears kept going though, twenty feet's nothing to them. So, I was in the clear, but I kept running in the same direction the soldiers went, because the other way still had Gears surging in, hundreds, thousands…we must have had maybe six-thousand on base, they brought over ten."

"The Gears spread out, and a main force kept going straight, above on the Floor C, chasing after Kiske and the survivors. I finally came around to the back of Floor B, climbed up the stairwell, and found myself behind the losing battle on both sides, both being pushed in by the Gears. Then, all of a sudden, Kiske gets knocked down, he flies past me, his sword turns loose. I grab it, the Gears were breaking loose on the side he was thrown back from, and something comes over me, and I couldn't control it. One hell of a blast comes out of it, and me, kills all the Gears on that side of Floor B, about twenty or so of them in the one charge, and the other side got mopped up by the Seikishidan survivors, and I passed out. The sword kicked my ass, and it really is hard to use and control, Ky gets his points there."

"Anyway, I wake up, we're back the cargo room of Floor C. Thing was busted up by the Gears, they closed it off with rubble and destruction, no way out. And, the base really only has that for an exit, as you saw. So, we decided sky light or bust. Instantly, Kiske takes a hating to me for the crap with his sword, and we go on our merry way. We get to the back of Floor C, I say I need to go back to my room to get something, and while I'm there and get it, Kiske leaves with the team, seven of them, besides him and I. So, I back track, find them gone, and then go searching. Lucky me, I find a Gear sentry crawling around, looking for any more humans. After killing it, I kind of alert about a zillion more, and while I'm running, I find the rest of the soldiers, hiding out in an old warehouse that wasn't used since when Kliff came to order. Place is totally dark, runs all the way along to Floor E, good for us. So, I yell at everyone to get in, they start running again, and I smash into something on my way in, lose my sword, which wasn't even mine, it was a Gear's, mine was lost somewhere or another. I pick up the sword, I keep running. Then, I noticed this ain't my sword, it's that thing you picked up before you found me."

"So, later one, we're all running in the darkness to a freight elevator that's old as shit, hoping it'll work, and we finally get there. It's all metal, so obviously, Kiske is gonna put the sparks to it, and no Gears can touch it. The end of the battle, we lost two soldiers. He saw me coming, and was going to do it anyway, but I stopped him with the sword. Oh yeah, did I mention it has this weird thing where it shoots wind?" Her expression turned very cold and questioning, then he just shrugged his shoulders and continued, speaking at a frenzid pace as he remembered and told it, almost like a story teller, her sitting and just wanting to know about it. **Even Trojans loved war stories, and in this war, they were very common, not to mention the only other entertainment or story was the Bible…so take your choices.**

"I got on the elevator, we're sitting there, going up slower than hell. Eventually, we reach the top, we get off, and we have to fight off the Gears who followd us up. A few of the more animal Gears could climb, and they did so, kind of keeping up with the open elevator, and when we got off, they surrounded it. When it happened, we fought, and Kiske went down, hard. Took a blade in his back…"

"I know, I helped sew him up." She said with a slight smile.

"…Good for you." He said mockingly, her mildly insulted, before he continued telling his story. "We finished the fight…and then we, me and some other guy, Jaygus, dragged his ass out of there...he was dead if I didn't do anything, a Gear would have made sure he was dead three times over, I had to get in the way…I don't know if he even knew I saved him, but I did. Anyway, battle was over, and Jaygus tried stitching him up. This time, we lost two more, down to five, including me. There, we went up an elevator shaft, got to Floor F, and from there, we scavenged for a few materials, or whatever we could get, and a guy came out of the sky light, attached by tether. Lucky him, he just alerted the last remaining Gears, the ones from before, in the warehouse who couldn't climb, they doubled back and up to Floor F, and he gave away our position, since we were relatively silent in our exploits."

"There, we fought the last of the Gears…the end of them. We had lived this far, we had to live more. Jaygus took a beating, Ky did, two more soldier died, now only me and the other two. At the end of the fight, Ky and I were the only two left conscious, Jaygus in some pile somewhere else, I thought he was dead, but obviously, he wasn't, don't know how I knew, but I could feel it. Gears didn't care though, if they killed the live humans, they could get to the sleeping ones easy. Same tactic they use everytime the storm cities. Basically, we killed the rest of them, except the very last Gear…it knocked me off of the edge of Floor F. From there…"

"You fell and I found you?"

"…Yeah." _You're such a goddamned liar. Some other time, shut up. _"And obviously, I was K.I.A….and here I am now."

"Okay, good story." She said, leaning back in her booth, folding her arms, looking straight at Darton. "But, you're still a terrible liar."

"…What?" he stifled out. _She always goddamn knows…_

"Story makes sense, accounted for damage, survivors, death, blood, bodies…but not why you would leave. If you weren't dead after that enormous fight, you would have most likely kept yourself in the Seikishidan, kept fighting. Like refilling the shot glass of Seikishidan love or religion, or whatever. But, you left something out, some reason, something."

"…Damn you, Bianca. How the hell do you always know?" he said, half humorous, half sneering. She shrugged, downing another glass of bourbon, her second. "Fine, you wanna know? You really want to know?"

"I've been wanting to know for a long ass time."

"…I should be dead right now. That K.I.A. on the list by my name is right, I should be dead, I should have been killed in action. I fell of that edge of Floor F, I had this broken collarbone, this dislocated shoulder, this gash right through my arm, all of these damages…" he said, nodding to each in order. "When I fell off, it wasn't entirely because I was pushed. Yeah, I wouldn't have fallen off otherwise, but once I was pushed…I let it happen, I let myself be pushed over, where else I could have grabbed a ledge or try and snag a floor below, but no, I didn't…"

"But Ky did. He grabbed me. The bastard threw himself over also, and caught my arm." He said, looking away, a low tone of his own, a snake like distanced feeling of it, as well as that pervasive death through each syllable, no matter how low or mumbled, it was clear as day, the camoflauge of a rattler never enough, because of that constant noise. "He tried to pull me back up, but he couldn't. I was too heavy, he was too tired and weak, and he was slipping off the edge also. He would have died with me…I told him to let me go, he said no. I always would insult Ky, berate him for being a child, and I still do, I don't like him…but what he did, I cannot put words to. I told him to let me go, I told him to let me die, it was my time. I had done something in my life, past my child hood that renewed something there that had been missing, no more reason for vengenace, no more disenchanted-with-the-Seikishidan…I had witnessed all of these men die, and for one man…one _boy_ to live. I've seen death, I've been in a lot of battles, but not has it ever hit me like it did there. All of it, the entirety was for Ky Kiske to live, and if he died, the Gears won, check mate…but he risked his life for _me_ at that point." Darton said, drinking another glass of bourbon that was slung across the table by the waitress making her rounds. It was bitter, and it burned, but his eyes watered because of more than that. He looked away, at a man at the bar drunk and laughing heartily in his belly.

"…I punched him. I punched Kiske three, four times…until his wrist couldn't hold me, I killed myself. He wouldn't let go, even when I punched him, he held on tighter, him slipping off too…but then, I finally released his grip, and he didn't release it, but it was one of those nerve things…he would have fell down to Floor A with me, to save a soldier like me, who had been nothing but trouble on him anyway…I told him my life was worthless, that at least now, dying here, I helped in having Ky Kiske live, having the one who would end the war live because I killed a few Gears that were meant for him, that was enough of a way to go. Also, my vendetta, my entire life long pursuit of revenge and hatred…had lost meaning, swept under the rug…it was gone, I was a shell of myself, there was no more Quint Darton in me, there was something else…something I didn't like. And I fell, I should have died, I _wanted_ to die…but I didn't, not because of Ky, but I didn't die from what should have killed me…" He sat in silence, looking downa t the table unblinkingly, then back up at Bianca, a slight smile on his face. She was suddenly pale, her eyes transixed upon Darton, just listening, wondering, sucked into the story and what happened, the emotions taking over her…the last bit of conversation, the last two paragraphs such a departure from the point-by-point narration of before, to something she hadn't expected, something entirely different, she couldn't believ Darton did or said those things, words not being able to compensate her feelings. She had only known him for a few days, but still…that was beyond her.

"Yet, now, I feel better." He said, smiling slightly, reaching across the table to a hand that sat lifeless on the table. He slowly grabbed it, his fingers wrapping around hers and tightening over them, and pulled her hand toward the center of the table slowly, shaking her from daze, her breathing in deeply. "I said that my life was over, I should have died…and now, this, it's a different situation. I have a reason to live, a past behind me, as well as a death that's official…I can start over, build a new life, no shadow to live in…I can live in Troy…live without Gears or Seikishidan…I can live with you. You brought me here, you are my friggin' angel, you, Bianca…you, in all of three days I've known you, you've shown trust, compassion, and such…friendship for someone you don't know and in all cases shouldn't give those luxuries, but you _did_…you did that for me, to me…and now, I have reason to live. I want to live, I want to build a new life, I want to be here, in Troy, with you…" he said, his words trailing off.

She sat shaken from reality, like the foundations of the buildings that echoed Babylon were picked up and thrown around, unable to speak or talk in any way, shape, or form, the power in the words said by Darton, what she heard…beyond what she was expecting, and it entirely brought her in, engulfed her, she couldn't understand, she didn't want to understand, yet she did, and…

She leaned forward over the table quickly, her eyes closed and kissed Darton. He was uprepared, though only slightly, eyes widening slightly at first, then closing as he kissed back, her soft lips meeting his chiseled and some-what chapped ones, a small cut on the inside of his mouth from biting his own lip in battle not fully healed. Her lips were soft…moist, more than complacent to his, and she pressed hard into him, her eyes closed and a distinct emotion in her actions undeniable by even him. Her hand embraced his and tightened over it as she kissed him, and he finally kissed back in entirety. The sounds of drunk men and pouring liquor, a bit of a talking murmur above the rustle and activities of the sky dwelling above in the towers of Troy, they all bore down upon both of them, crashing down, the entire base of what they both knew falling into pure and absolute chaos around them…yet they were oblivious, invulnerable, just simply enduring with that passionate kiss, that both of them reciprocated and fell into. It was somewhat bittersweet, in their kiss, tinged with bourbon, and emotions running like the liquor in the bar, but both of them knew it, felt it…couldn't deny anything or really deal with what they knew and felt any other way…than a kiss.

Zeronova's Notes:  
This is an interesting time…considering it is romance, and a kiss, le gasp! I'm not nearly as good a romance writer or try to be one as some others are, and I don't try and lean into that sort of section more than I need to. I especially tried to avoid certain things very common in most romance writing (like the word luscious), and some other very notable phrases and adjectives, which go hand in hand with yuri/yaoi for the most part, and simply cease to get the true meaning across to me anymore, so I took a more classical approach to how a kiss was done, and I think it turned out better than worse. Not perfect, but definitely gets the point, feeling, and story driving position across. I kind of neglected Lyon for now, but there will be next chapter (In plus, this has to happen now, same time/night as Lyon, which happened last chapter…).


	29. Arc 2: You've got to fight

They're all around…I feel them, I can sense them. I think I hear them, the monstrous growls and little squeals of delight, choked back in fear…but maybe I'm imagining it, no one else does…all that I've seen, maybe it's getting to me, always thinking and seeing Gears…but there are Gears here, it's known, it is fact…but where are they. Where are the Gears?

Ky Kiske walked along with one of the three sects of the split-up teams of soldiers, a sergeant holding all of the vital materials, hand twitching to grab and shoot the flare gun. These soldiers had never used or seen anything like it, and even though they shouldn't have used it at any time, some of them wished to have a reason to, because they were in Lyon anyway, and, why not see what a flare is before they die? The black sky seemed synonymous with the black sheets of armor the soldiers wore, the small curved pieces laced together in halves to form a sort of shell around their major extremities, the black, shiny plastic-like material having fore-arm, upper arm, chest, lower abdomen, femur, knee, and shin pieces, complete with a helmet as well, like black bubbles on their limbs. White pieces of cloth poked out in-between the holes, like weeds through cement, but was as black as the armor due to the night, which seemed to surround and engulf them, someone five feet in front of you could be gone in an instant if you took your gaze off of their relatively wraith-like outline.

Despite a covered moon, they had one small source of light, the Thunderseal. It glowed and shimmered with life, it too knowing the presence of Gears, amplifying the feelings and fear of its user…static jolts of electricity jumping off of the blade to pebbles below, running along like children to a tether before snatched back to the motherly blade. The dim blue light of the sword gave Kiske's blue-trimmed uniform, armor underneath of the cloth, as Kiske preferred, a more ghastly appearance, like some sort of undulated oceanic specter, complete with a faceless mask, a helmet that only rebounded and shot the hesitated and stifled breaths of soldiers circulating in their helmet back to their ears, increasing fear, decreasing morale, increasing claustrophobia, decreasing their already diminished bravery, that bravery gone by simply donning the armor.

Each step echoed slightly, the streets empty and vacant, bits of buildings lying in rubble, bodies strewn from and over the carnage, bits of blood and body parts, days and weeks old, stinking to the point of gag inducing, the stench making one know and believe why they were there, how that single lung was removed from a screaming human…but, put it out of mind, there's a mission at hand, don't slack off, keep focus, come on, Bob, you can do it, just don't lose your lung.

"Sir!" a stifled whisper shot out from behind Kiske. He instantly turned, nerves rattled and stretched tight so the nearest poke at them would snap them in half. Through the half-circle visor, he saw the soldier motioning with one hand, kneeling down on the ground, a small fire burning inside of a building a few yards away. The soldiers all stopped, then quickly filed out to form a perimeter, the sergeant giving strict and lethal commands in a whisper. Ky walked up, and knelt down next to him, waiting for an explanation from the private.

"Sir…I saw something." He said, frightening, his head zooming back to the darkness, then to Ky, whom he looked straight in the eyes, unsure of whether he should look slightly above, as per order, but he was scared, too scared.

"What?" Ky said sharply, more of a statement than a question.

"I saw a flicker, from the flame over there…it was up, a Gear, it was running by slowly, keeping up with us. But, as soon as I saw it, it was gone…"

"We all got Gears on the mind, maybe you're seeing things." Ky said, sanding and turning. He tried taking another step when a tugging from below shook him back to his knees. The soldier seemed more fervent than ever, pulling Ky down to him, whispering in an angered and urgent tone.

"I _saw_ it, sir. If we keep going, they'll get us from behind. Listen to me…there!" he said, his finger pointing out in the darkness, a ruin of a building, a mere skeleton of cement and wires in a struggle with light and dark with the flickering cascading orange dueling the captivating darkness. Ky looked himself, trying to find something, but his eyes coming up on nothing.

"Soldier, you're losing it. I don't want any more subordination or acts of misconduct to a C.O."

"But, sir..." he said, urgently pleading in a whisper. Ky only gave him an icy stare that froze his lips shut to a slight mum and a nod. Ky turned, started to walk, took one step, and then he heard another peep of the soldier behind him. He was getting angry, waiting to turn, gathering himself, trying to keep himself from yelling at the private, while older than him, not old enough for battle. Though, he found something entirely different on his turn, no soldier veering for his attention or complaining, but a sharp, jagged piece of metal, protruding from the throat of the kneeling soldier. He gagged, blood streaming out of the blade still lodged in his neck, his hands reaching up at it, then falling limp as he toppled to his side, hitting a piece of cement on his fall, his last breath a gurgled liquidy squelch through his open throat. Ky stood unable to think for a second, blinking, then, something took over him, not rationality or commanding, but an animal instinct he couldn't control that surfaced in light of Gears, a violent, unhindered and uncivilized version of a self he didn't know he had…but it was there, sure as day, or night, given the situation.

"Flare!" he screamed, throwing his sword into an arc to where the soldier was pointing before, knowing a Gear to be there. Lightning jolted off the edge of the blade in the swing, small reaching hands of blue death circulating in the wake of the slash, and shooting forward, collecting itself tighter and tighter as it went forward, a circulating wedge of lightning that slammed into the carcass of a building, the electricity shooting life to the darkness, a dull blue shock of life, illuminating a charred Gear falling face first for only a moment, a whiny dual-voice of death before it died.

"Sir!" the sergeant said, fumbling with his own flare gun, the one flare he had been given seeming to jump around the edges of the hinged gun, not fitting into the slot from his sweaty and fearful hands. He dropped the flare gun, grabbing his sword, looking around. "We don't need the gun!" he yelled, head swiveling to find a Gear in the darkness, illuminated by the small fire in the cauldron of an old shop, probably burning for two weeks now off of whatever it could grab and turn to charred ashes.

"What? Do it soldier!" Ky said, running forward, Fuuraiken in his right hand, grabbing the cuff of the soldier's shirt, looking through his visor into the fearful, yet resolved face.

"Look" he said simply, nodding to the sky behind him, Ky letting go and turning. What he saw justified the soldier's actions, two red phosphorus glows of diminishing flares dying out of the sky, falling from their grace in the short-lived crimson ballet. "There's three groups…" the soldier said, trailing off in words. Kiske knew what he meant, that both of them shot theirs off, them shooting theirs doesn't matter, everyone is in the middle of a shitstorm. Ky took one deep breath in, nodded at the soldier, and then turned to run at the circle of soldiers around the sergeant. The perimeter was standing strong, the soldiers in a rather loose and large circle, looking out in every direction, hands holding swords that fumbled in their own jittery fingers. Ky wedged his way through a lower level sergeant and a private, both amazed Kiske came next to them, then turning back to the darkness, trying to find the elusive Gear who hid in its veil.

No life came, nothing moved…it was silent, the crackle of the flame behind and a low, heavy breathing of the soldiers, each holding their Seikishidan sword in the customary taught style, both hands on the grip, blade in center of the body, tipped towards the oncoming enemy, but a few used their own styles, whatever worked. **I went over this before, how a lot of sword fighting etiquette was lost, and it diminished down to whatever really worked in killing a Gear, so let's not rehash on it.**

"Come on!" a soldier somewhere shouted, his words echoing amongst the graveyards of previously inhabited buildings and homes. The echoes died off, nothing left by silence again, feet scuffing over the pavement, each soldier in their own medium of fear, some in fear of waiting, wanting the fight to start, be knee deep in blood and pain, others in fear at the first Gear they would see would be the last thing they saw. Kiske's fear was rather timid, a fear of silence…he wouldn't want to wait, a Gear to just appear, he wanted to see one, or none at all, not knowing that they are there in the darkness, hiding in its embrace, wrapped in its satanic cloth. Then, the darkness seemed to take shape, to bubble and boil.

Gears seemed to slowly seep out of the darkness, their hulking figures heaping in every step with the haggard dual heavy gasp, crooked teeth and rotting flesh hanging from equally rotten bones. Mutilated and manipulated, as well as mutated, they slowly started to walk. Appearing in front and behind on the street they were circled upon, as well as coming out of alley ways, over buildings, dropping down slowly, a thud of a slimy Gear, the globulous blood also seeping from the bones and joints, making a disgusting _squelch_ sound. The Gears seemed to take their time, be smooth and slow about their methodical actions…trying to intimidate the humans.

They encircled the human circle, the sergeant in the middle dropping his priority mission objectives, the flare gun clanking on the street along with the small flashlight, compass, and map. The map was the only thing that would've been worth keeping, but he had already put it into his head the direction to go, and the mission was kill Gears…and they were about to. The circle tightened, the Gears coming into the light slightly, the orange glow giving them a demonic look, the slumped shoulders and hanging posture, the broken skin and bones, disfigured bodies and blood red eyes, turning in their heads, over and on top of themselves, looking at nothing, but turning, loading, receiving…

And, what they received was a command for a first attack.

One of the Gears from the slow, intimidating circle branched out, orders received. It leaped forward, one longer arm than the other whittled of flesh to a sharpened bone finger, two of them stabbing weapons, the other three broken off. The shorter arm held a rusted, yet slightly shiny piece of tin, sharp on one edge, trails of blood on the fingers that held the blade. A private tried deflecting the bony fingers, but only served to knock him on his back, where the Gear's momentum followed on top, impaling him with the sword. He choked out a blood curdled gasp before falling limp, the Gear falling dead next to him from two Seikishidan swords delved into it from soldiers near the fallen.

The rest of the Gears then ran in a full on surge, a wave encircling and crushing onto the soldiers, like water pooling around a bowl, lingering around the rim, then pouring and rushing in all at once. The dull crackle of the fire in the background set the pace of the battle, it's melancholy flame burning idly as the events unfolded, indifferent to silence as it had endured the past few deathly weeks of Lyon, or the loud, violent bash of the races in front of it.

Many soldiers fell in the first wave, the Gears about ten feet off in every direction, then surging in on a sprint simultaneously, soldiers scared and unprepared, not to mention a Gear was stronger, faster, a better killer, but it had not knowledge on its side. Blood met the night sky, thrown from the wounds of the dead and dying, splashing in a liquid along the ground from the men as it oozed out of the bodies of the Gears. Low clangs emitted from sword hit to sword hit, dry crunches of bone and globs of sinew, screams and grunts from both sides, fighting off each other, the dual, feral voices of Gears and the scared, yet resilient human voices.

Ky rivaled the orange glow with each slash of his own sword, putting out a blue flash at each, like every hit echoed another genesis in its marveling light, but graved with few moments than seven days. Three or four Gears came at him, the soldiers to his sides having no Gear to fight, and being bounced to the outside, helping another soldier, the Gears around making it a point to occupy them and swarm Kiske. _Justice gave you all the order to kill me first, after I bested him in Paris…well, come on then, finish your objective, show me what you have, unholy creatures._

The first one up took a vertical leaping slash at Kiske, which he side stepped, his blade clanging off of the Gears, not to block, but to deflect it downward, instead of the force coming straight at him. The Thunderseal's tip smashed into the ground from the force, shaking in Kiske's hands and bits of lightning jumping off and bleeding from the sword, swarming the asphalt, melting the tar. He brought the sword up quickly though in a horizontal slash at a Gear running in from his right, the tip barely grazing its belly, but then the entire gut wrinkling into a black ash, fleeting away on a small wind whistling through the graves of buildings. The Gear seemed unfazed though, continuing its run after half of its stomach was missing, its sword clanging off of the Fuuraiken that was recoiled and held vertical for a horizontal slash that came at Ky as it trotted by, piercing down to Ky's inner-most fears as the wind pushed out of the way by the slicing of the sword, the light swish grazing across his face. The Gear turned back, facing him, the one from before next to it, now inside of the circle, Ky's back to the outside.

They approached him, both together, and he knew there was another, they were all coming for him. _Four, five…just start swinging._ Turning to his side, he swung a horizontal arc, stopping the momentum at his left side, his elbow digging into his own side, stopping the heavy sword from its arc, then bringing it in a vertical arc to another Gear, lit up by the blue flashes, darkness and the dull orange only giving way to their actual appearance, their voices like ghostly hymns on the dull wind. Ducking under a horizontal slash from one Gear, Ky attacked it after the blade passed over him, a low kick to one of the knees, the Gear falling forward into a rising vertical slash, the chin being split, blade going through its mouth and coming out next to its eye, falling flat forward, twitching slightly. The blade made its way upward, crackling and bits of blood flinging off of it, singing off from the current through it. It was slow, a heavy sword, so on the way down, Ky switched it to his left hand, jabbing with his right hand to his right, hitting a Gear, and swinging the long sword in a horizontal arc, meeting his right hand with the hilt again, through the hips of the Gear, both halves toppling next to each other. The top half groaned, trying to claw its way forward at Ky, mission still in its eyes, and fell limp from the biological inability to survive.

Before he had a chance to engage the next Gear, he was knocked off of his feet, falling forward, tripping over the lifeless carcass from a hit behind. He smashed into the asphalt street, skidding against the cement sidewalk, hearing snickers of Gears around him, feeling no blood or cuts on him. Quickly turning over to look at the faces above, he saw Gears looming overhead, weapons raised, ready to attack, to kill, on moments notice, five sets of blood red eyes looking down at Kiske. He tried rolling, moving, the steps and feet of Gears around him, cutting him off, encircling him. Looking down, he saw the reason he couldn't move, and the reason he fell. A lieutenant, second-class, had been killed, thrown over at him from a Gear who probably tossed the body out of the way trying to kill another. _Move!_ A sword lunged at him from above, trying to impale Ky to the ground, Ky's upper body contorting out of the way as it cracked into the asphalt, a few sparks glinting off of the blade, dying out as they hit ground again. Then, another stab from another Gear, a slash from one, they were all trying to attack him, and all he could do was try and fend them off while lying on the ground.

And, one got lucky. Snapping off the hand of a Gear who stabbed and missed, Ky punched at the knee cap of another, his punch arching his body, his right arm punching to his left side, left hand holding the Fuuraiken. As he did, he was pinned back flat, a blade snatching him between the arm and shoulder, right in front of his arm pit.

"Gyah!" he screamed in pain, feeling the blood squirt from the wound, splattering on the few inches around the wound, staining the white red. His armor stopped there, an empty space where he was vulnerable, and a Gear knew it. Feeling no pain, only anger, Ky raised himself again, punching the knee cap of the Gear, the brittle bone splintering and it falling backwards, its sword lodged in Ky's shoulder as he managed to stand up, deflecting a few blows as best he could. He finally got to his feet, gasping for breath, the blood running down the side of his uniform. He was slightly hunching over himself, one hand holding the Fuuraiken, the other reaching to the blade being held up straight forward from his body, lodged between the socket and upper-arm bone. He reached along the blade, trying to pull it out, keeping a watchful eye on the few Gears enclosing on him, four of them. The blade's old nature and rather poor metal broke in his hands, bending and breaking from rust, the jagged edge now protruding and still stuck in his flesh. He tossed the blade to the ground, clanging in a different sound than the echoes of other soldiers swords banging with the Gears, but equally as distant and devoid of life.

"Four of you…bastards, let's see what you got…" Ky said, his unruly side taking over, to the extent that his own personal laws of cursing and being polite were shattered with his Id, Ego being forced into a prison, only unlockable by the last blood spilt of a Gear. The other soldiers were broken from their circle, fighting wherever they could, whatever Gear, the white shirts amidst the darkened and yellowed skin of the mutated Gears, the stench of death and decay heavy in the air. The Gear seemed to slowly capture him, strutting around him, keeping distance from the tip of his sword, the rest of the Gears swarming over the Seikishidan white suits lined with black pads of armor, Ky's underneath the surface of his uniform, a vile indiscretion and evil hidden under the holy white, protecting from death, but also something humans were not naturally gifted with.

They circled him, grunting and laughing in the demonic dual voices, orders received and transmitted, then they all seemed to stop their hanging positions, their upper bodies going erect from their crouches position, hands tightening on grips of metal, or bones tingling against each other, dull scrapes emitting. To Kiske, no sounds were heard but his erratic breath, his eyes slicing from Gear to Gear with enough ferocity to cut out of his own head, so even they could run and escape the duel. And then, they all attacked. The two behind him both rushed in, swinging in opposite chords of each other. Ky stepped to his right, ducking under a horizontal slash, blocking the vertical slash by the other Gear, the blade singing a current of electricity as it touched and bounced from the unholy blade of Kiske's.

Recoiling from its attack, the vertical-slashing Gear rushed again, trying to bowl Ky over. Another bit of acrobatics, and the Gear missed him, taking with it a Gear behind, no damage, except for time gained. The previous Gear, horizontal slashing one, took its elongated fingers, skin and muscle stripped dry to the mutated talon fingers, pulsating and rubbing against each other's needle fine point on the end, blood already spilled in the night by them, tinged with red and dripping a solitary poem. It lurched forward, trying to impale Ky, who jumped back, swinging his own sword in a circular motion in front of him, not a slash, but more like a disc, the blade ripping through the brittle bones of the Gear's hand. It jumped back, assessing the situation, bits of blood coming from the stubs of fingers, then attacked again, jumping forward to simply over power Ky and bash him with strength. But, it was in vain. The jump took it off of the ground by a few feet, it's massive power and momentum unstoppable, so Kiske didn't, only stabbed the oncoming Gear, ripping out his blade and rolling to the left in a moments notice, a quick jab-stab-roll. The body came crashing down, rolling along the pavement, tumbling and spilling blood, resting against another carcass as the dull red glow faded from its eyes.

_Three…there was four._ Suddenly, he felt a pressure on his back, near the cut from before, but a huge pressure. His kneeling position from the roll turned into a sprawl, his face slapping into the concrete, feeling a tooth jostled and a lip cut from his own teeth inside. A Gear from behind, the last of the cou-de-gras around him relied on no weapons except it massive stature, a hulking brute, a humanoid type. It raised its fist to punch again, to crush the commander's head to a bloody pulp among the cement and withering bodies of old in Lyon. But, it only left a blood stain of its own ripped flesh as it smashed into the concrete, ripping a vein of cracks around the crater, a few globs left in the imprint of a hand as Ky rolled to one side. A quick kick to one of the legs, and he took one knee, the Gear taking one also from the attack. Before Atlas could confirm his final killer blow to the Gear, he looked up, pacing his timing and attack as the monstrosity tumbled forward, nearly on top of him, from an ankle lost to a blow from his boot. As it fell forward, its hands caught it on the way down, a slight vibration as it did, the Gear not leaving its view on Kiske. For a brief second, there was a look, a deeper sensation in those red eyes…something Kiske saw, through the Gear, into Justice, both locking eyes before the red eyes turned to burnt out ashes. Swinging his sword in an upward arc, starting at its curled over torso and ripping through its neck and skull, Ky jumped up, a rainbow arc over his own head, a vertical leap and slash removing biological stability from the Gear. He landed nimbly, breathing hard in his helmet, the hot gasps fogging his visor slightly, blowing back in and around his face.

He ripped off the black helmet, unable to see or hear, only muffled cries and twangs of battle, the cool air rushing onto his burning hot face, a slight solace. He could now see the Gears, the Seikishidan in their equally black armor, fighting amongst each other. Taking two more gasps, and swallowing a dry throat, he hoarsed out few final words.

"Retreat to the center of the city!"

"Hey Goreman!" Sol yelled, the frightened private fumbling with his utensils in hands, unable to comply or move, his flair gun twitching out of his hands. "Shoot that fucking flair!" he yelled, his gruff low voice enough to open wounds and cauterize them too. Sol returned his gaze to the oncoming Gears, a wave of them oncoming like a tsunami of rotting flesh and magical-enhanced-DNA, all being controlled by the will of one Alpha Gear. _Seems all those commands only fell underneath to just a simple kill fest…stealth and silence my ass, Justice. You're too jumpy, play your cards right, maybe you'll end up with shit, always looking to go all in on the bluff, well, I got your damn trump card right here…_

The flair gun clanked on the ground, bouncing a bit, the metallic echoes reverberating in the empty streets. He reached down to pick it up, but was shoved aside, onto his back by Sol, who simply grabbed it off the ground, aimed it up, shot it, and dropped it. He looked down defiantly at the sergeant, who was crawling along the ground backwards in fear, eyes locked on Sol, who only stared back. The sergeant finally stood, running to the edge of the circle, the perimeter surrounding the sewage exit gate, Sol now standing alone in the middle, the flood of Gears coming from the left. The Gears seemed to synchronize their attack, after seeing and assessing the humans, making a decent strategy, and executing it, which was like most of Justice's strategies, strength in numbers and strength in superiority, Gears are killing machines, humans are not, simple conclusion answers, the only thing that Justice could really confirm or deny on the battlefield, despite from internal reflection. The Gears didn't try stealth, like they had on Kiske, but simply came out of the darkness, all from the left, the red eyes in the distance multiplying and the echoes and grunts of Gears forming out of their sleeping places and resting modes, becoming alive again by command to fight against the humans, like drops of mercury flowing back to the source and globbing together.

The soldiers broke their circle, lining up tentatively at the oncoming invasion of Gears, hearing the pounding foot steps, the running pace and two voices to each Gear as they breathed in heavily, hulking steps requiring hulking breaths, their bodies bobbing in their awkward jaunted steps, silhouetted against a darker tone of midnight than their murky darkness state, like levels of how far it was from the person increasing the amount of darkness, but it was for naught, since it was so dark anyway, the only illuminating came from small pyres like match heads burning around the tip of Sol's blade, which dragged on the ground behind him, the trail of flame short and small, but alive none the less, the red eyes in the distance not particularly bright or luminescent, but none the less, noticeable, especially in darkness.

He walked forward, pushing through soldiers, hearing the whimpers and cries of the soldier standing in line at the invasion flowing at them, Gears surging forward to be in the front with a stride, quickly thrown to the back by strides of others, then claiming lead with another new stride, like a gallop of horses and a wave combined. He stood about five feet in front of the line of soldiers, lined perfectly in three consecutive lines, from one edge of the street to the other, dim bits of burnt and destroyed buildings lit in the darkness by their mere presence, undeniable aura giving their structure enough of a presence to justify knowledge to the beasts of midnight. Sol looked behind him at the rest of the soldiers, a lot of them shaking, their weapons drawn and hesitant, scared, a few ready for action, a look of action in their eyes, others apathetic to a situation they had seen before. He looked over all of them, each looking back at him, seeing even Goreman, the unsure sergeant who found himself fighting in the midst of privates, a rank unworthy and incompetent of holding, especially under pressure, as just seen. Sol was apathetic to the oncoming Gears, the shift eyes of the soldiers behind scared to look at Sol for even a moment as that'd be a moment sacrificed to Gears.

Slowly, Sol turned to the mass, close…so close now. He knelt down, picking up a small object off of the dried-blood splot on the ground underneath him, a trail of blood where a body had been dragged out. He tipped one edge to the blade of his sword, a plume of flame emitting as it simply touched the metal, then he put it into his mouth. Sol took one deep drag off of the cigarette, the purple smoke rising from the end and billowing out of his nostrils like fluid secreted, except opposing the pull of gravity. He slipped the butt into the side of his cheek, end exposed, and leaned back a little, hand reaffirmed grip on his block-like FireSeal, then smirked at the oncoming Gears.

They surged on, taking over the rubble and buildings, smashing the intruding pieces of architecture in their way, Gears busting through it or smashed to a pulp by those behind it, pushing on forward, bits of rock thrown forward and strained out by the sprinting mass. And finally, the first Gear arrived, to meet Sol head on. From its sprint, it lifted its blade to strike vertically, hunched over its front legs so much so it stood only four and a half feet, but if it stood straight, it would have been over eight feet easily. Sol didn't flinch or move, just continued smoking his cigarette, his left hand reaching out to the Gear, grabbing its wrist as it swung, the blade stopped in mid air. The Gear had surged forward past the rest by a few seconds, due to its awkward agility, and was then sent sprawling back into the mass, a few Gears thrown down by it. Sol, while holding the Gear's attacking hand, the massive downward strength in the blow simply stopped without any sense of strength in it, then the blade in his right hand being slashed upward from its position on the ground, trails of flame dotting the asphalt, then a massive plume as the tip slashed through part of its ribcage, the fire filling and exploding into the hole, engulfing the Gear and sending it on a one-way trip, the flesh sizzling from bone and charring to a black, the scent of burnt fat lingering in the air. And, the rest of the Gears came, attacking.

Zeronova's Notes:  
And now we have Lyon, finally. Starting out good, gotta lay the trappings. I know I had Justice lay out a different programming set for the Gears, but I kind of explained it with Sol's monologue, but I'll go into it again, don't worry, I didn't screw up myself with my own writing…but, next Monday, next update (and 150k, wow).


	30. Arc 2: For your right

**Such a tumultuous thing, the truth is...in writing a story, its absolution astounds me. Writing a story, for you, the reader, to digest, to read, to think about, leaves me more depraved of energy than you, to read and digest these words should, because simply putting the thought to words and meanings to scribe is more difficult than interpreting. In my self-acclaimed profession, a writer in these times, I find it hard to tell you truth, amongst events narrated in a truthful light.**

**Because, a story itself, is a story, no matter how based on fact. That purely factual retelling, not even I can represent to you...no words or phrases, short of actually seeing it with your own eyes, could be truth enough, but even then, your eyes could deceive you...put you into a false paranoia and ambition of a situation, which then infers, what would be truth? Who dictates truth? And, as a recurring theme in this "story", is God. He, as commonly thought, is truth. I mean, how could He not be? He _is_ God, after all. But, I am not God, I can't present a story so accurately and so believable in a way as to entertain and also narrate something I feel should be narrated, should be told.**

**That base on fact though...even that may be out of God's truthful realm. Such as, a fact being that Gears kill humans...but not even that is true fact, such as nothing in my "story" can be considered fact, only a misinterpretation of fact...but is that fact then? The purpose of a story, I believe, my dear reader, is to dissuade fact, present something other than what you know to be true and factual...even presenting a factual event(s), it is in my nature to blur the lines, or else my trappings and self-indignation of being an author is shot, correct? But that, my friends is where fact comes to a screeching halt.**

**That fact...even the fact in the Bible, is not fact, how can it be? The Bible was written by a _man_, not God, through God, but not _by _God. This is not written by anything near the Bible, yet is a telling of a time and story at humanities edge, so it in turn is as influential as the Bible, right? Or maybe it isn't. That fact is something the reader decides, but fact is not decidable...fact is fact. It's a conundrum, a perplexing wheel of "Yes", spinning around to come to "No", then circling back to "Yes". My fact is as much fact as you, the reader, wants it to be...it's a story of chosen fact or not, and with that sort of outlook, I find myself even contesting and questioning the pages of scribbling lying in heaps around me...of this story, of this quest to tell a thing which _must_ be told...**

**But how fit am I, the author, to tell it? I am not God, how could I be dignified to tell the fact of a time and a place so shrouded in rivers of blood and fogs of fear, that my fact is lost among the faces and bodies of the war. Fact leaves no room for imagination and thought, outside of pure, methodical truth and fact...which this story is purely not, but an interpretation of that fact...this is what the story strives to be, and even that, may be the best of what can be presented to you, since fact is unattainable, so please suffice, dear reader. **

**To add insult to injury though, how troubling is the fact in our time, our war against Gears and our plight for survival, based off of the founding and finding of something widely considered fiction, a work of fantasy and sorcery; magic. Magic is the devil's work in the Bible, when judgment day comes, God uses his powers and miracles, blessings and good will to fight Satan's magic and sin, angel and devil fighting amongst the behemoths of each world, the clouds of heaven and fires of hell merging, clashes of their powers. And, in old fantasy, magic was something used to conjure up spells and summons, plumes of fire and bursts of lightning from nothing...but, our world, we know magic as what it is, evil. It spawned Gears, but how could it be evil when it was always there...the fact that it has been proven to have existed in every molecule, every atom, every everything, the very fibers of existence itself, but just unharnassed, like magnetism or oil or any sort of resource. Much like iron was inaccessible for being underground, magic was inaccessible for millennia because it was too complicated and involved in using and harnessing it, until science one day found out how.**

**Is sin an unharnassed variable waiting to be plucked and used, as much as good is, and life itself? The fact that magic exists denies its fictitious roots, calling either the Bible or stories fiction. Yet, called magic as a pet name by founders, by Frederick, it stuck, and with results tremorous, more so than a pet name, as much as Justice's own justice is a constant reminder of how deceiving names are and can be. The fact magic exists...whether it's magic in the true sense, or an intangible source of power, residing in every molecule and atom, as much as hydrogen or oil or electricity is...but the name, magic...it has that alluring distanced self from it, that distinction of fact, not in lush green worlds of elves and dwarves, where warlocks use magic for good and evil, but in a world where magic itself crafts beings that kill humans, and humans harness it in weapons...which really, can't be truly discounted as too far off the old stories, or the Bible's connotations of it, despite its form and function being much different than that of its roots...fact or fiction, my dear reader...**

**And, back to the story at hand.**

The Gears came on unrelentingly, their bodies and swords as one as their gigantic masses hurtled forward onto the human soldiers, both riddled with fear and cuts, their blood spilling anxiety into death, and rousing those left alive into action. Seeing the men next to you cut down...their dying screams echoing in your own head...you either get more scared, and run, or you fasten down your own fear, and you fight, to avenge deaths and to not fall pray to a fate similar to theirs.

Despite folly or error, they succeeded, too. The human morale, the spirit, the continuing perseverance beyond biological boundaries, extending to the mentality, is what made them worthy adversaries to Gears. Gears were stronger, faster, acted as a whole, and killed as a whole. Humans, while not exceeding in any of those traits, had its own role of exceeding variables, the most important one being humanity. The ability to think, plan, dodge that blow, punch that Gear, and come back to the first. Something that Gears couldn't comprehend, couldn't calculate, Siren unable to distribute the facts and figures to the Gears in that sort of way. Not to say Gears were stupid, they _did_ lead a hundred year war against humanity...

But, neither Gear nor human could calculate or wit themselves a victory...that resided in the amount and life of the humans versus the Gears, even insurmountable odds were burnt down by the human flame, as shown in the H.Q., and through the entire war. And, that spirit ran high after a blistering first blow.

The soldiers were scared, petrified, the first few dozen killed without a blink of an eye by swords and hands of Gears, plowing through them, their blood splashed upon the rows behind, jolting them from their glazed state of cattle before the slaughter, into bulls before the red towel. Fear was gone, resolve made, and they themselves acted as a whole, securing their emotions to their job at hand, fighting Gears.

After Sol's introductory attack, the Gears seemed to swoop around him, like a stream around a jutting rock, a few Gears challenging his authority breaking their rush and fell the same fate as their brethren. Despite the soldiers falling behind him, he had no care for them, not moving backwards from the onslaught, and if anything, only forward, into the surge of Gears, like a living wave of enemies.

The Gears tried swiping at him as they ran by, an attack here, blood spilt there, none of it any good. With almost lethal precision and quickness that seemed unearthly, every attack from every side was fended off with the charring clang of reverberating off of his sword, the Gear in contact, by weapon or body, singed and engulfed in flame, running up the length of the weapon touching his, and shooting off with each slash, like a bag of fire being open and slashed around, bits and pieces flying every which way as to the direction it was swung.

The Gears swallowed the defenses behind Sol, standing as a statue of defiance under the pressure, still lazy in his stance with the tip of his sword clanging on the ground in the few moments where he didn't have a Gear on top of him, the cigarette butt in his mouth hanging languidly, the smoke rising from it completely lazily and uncaring of the battle and death around it, like an apathetic sentiment of hell, the burning fires sucked back into those who smoked it, the hell-fires consumed billowing out in purple wisps from the user.

Flying in to his right, the enemy was cut down, the leaping slash met with the dull blade ripping through its abdomen mid flight, Sol only pivoting with his sword to accomplish it, the body cut, blade passing through it before it erupted in flame, hitting the ground and splattering in blood, boiling away under the flames consuming it, flesh eaten to ash, bone bubbling in black stench. The fire stopped as soon as it began, the volcanic burst that came from no where and returned there on slash and defend from the Fuurenken showing that it was a Frederickian weapon. The flames themselves seemed to either billow from the blade, like blowing on it would cloud the flames forward, or they were delayed, in wake of the slash, dictated by the user itself. They shared a bond, user and weapon, how they both interacted, the user and weapon both responding based off of each other. **Which is obvious, as we know what happened to Quint when he ran in with the Fuuraiken. The best way to describe the weapons and uhow they react to their users is a horse tamer. Sometimes, a horse will ride as fast as you want it, and all you have to do is giddy up. Others will buck and be violent until you get off, and only tamed by one man, or none at all. It's that sort of ability a sword has with its user that can change it from a blade to a weapon that harnesses its Frederickian roots and crafting.**

On his pivot from the dead Gear, the flames spilling around the feet of other Gears, but dying short of their killed adversary on the ground, another attacker flew at him, nearly coinciding with the one before. This one he was unable to attack or dodge, the Gear's lunge knocking him forward and on his side, a Gear in front of him readying for an overhead attack, but received the weight of Sol and the Gear behind him bashing through it, sandwhiched by two Gears and falling backwards. A few Gears behind also fell due to the tackle, Sol quickly standing up, a swift kick to the Gear who had tackled him, crushing jaw to its skull, its own jagged teeth piercing through its cranium and a yelp before it rolled over dead. He stood over the body for a second, a few twitches from the convulsing body, spat on it in a manner of pure hatred and disgust, then turned back to the Gears standing up around him, hissing violently and venomously, bits of spit and saliva dripping from their mouths, tongues lapping through the graveyards of teeth, deformed bones and skulls placed upon deformed bodies, muscle exposed to peeling flesh, and shattered bones nothing but physical embracings to them.

Sol surveyed around him, slowly letting the tip of his sword touch the ground as the Gears enclosed around him slowly. He took a look over his shoulder, the brown mane of hair he had, groomed from years and years of not cutting it, falling past his back, rustling against his vest. His free hand took the cigarette out for a moment, blowing out a plume of smoke before returning it, a smirk on his face. He pointed his finger at a Gear in front of him, flicking a bit of the ash at it, then returning the cigarette. Its eyes flopped over in its head, thinking, when its thoughts transmitted Sol in front of it, a raised fist coming down on it before static engulfed the stream to Justice.

* * *

_Run, run, run, run, run!_ Ky's grip tightened over his sword, the blade wisping off little bolts of electricity in each running stride, running along the ground, over rubble and tar, the blue fingers creeping their way up and around, searching and prying as he ran. His hair blew threw the dead night, no moon out, no wind, his helmet thrown off by him earlier. It wouldn't do much in way of helping to stop a Gear from bashing his head in, and it only stopped him from seeing entirely, so he discarded it. In plus, the clouding and hot breath made him a bit claustrophobic.

He ran along the streets, a few soldiers behind him, hearing the grunts and stampedes of Gears behind him, each step clawing into the ground, ripping up the cement in chunks as that foot was thrown forward for another leaping bound. Pieces of buildings were also cascading down to the ground, ripping through the counterpart Gears below, the animalistic types running up and along the sides of buildings over the crowd of Gears that plagued and razed the streets, the chunks of cement killing a few on the way down, but it was of no consequence. They made large leaps, from shattered wreckage of one room to the side of the next building, bashing through some walls, running along the outside, jumping across the street to another building, over one, whatever worked, a magnum opus of agility in the death-dealing amalgamations of science.

A few soldiers trailed behind him, maybe thirty, not more. His initial roster of about two hundred had been cut down at the initial attack, the circling battle before at the sewage pipe exit. He had created an opening out of pure luck, blowing down a few Gears with an attack, due to his sword, and the remainders followed him in the moment of panic and thinking amongst the Gears, them all sitting still for a second, thinking and receiving orders, before pursuing Kiske again.

And here he was, running. The sergeant with the compass and directions had been killed; a Gear had jumped over the ranks in the circle before and skewered him to the cement, before Kiske cut it down. But now, he was running blind, in the direction he thought he should be going. He needed to meet up with another group of humans, anything...he needed more men. And, if he stayed in his position, he would have been killed, so running was the option, despite U.N. mission parameters saying not to. _Who gives a damn what the U.N. said to do or not...this is a war, and there are Gears on top of me..._

The air rushed past him, his blonde hair being thrown out of his face, bits of sweat beading and running along the strands, flying off to the crushing oblivion behind him, Gears behind in the darkness. Only teeming and swirling red dots circulated behind them, gaining closer every second to show there were Gears, sounds of quiet death and fierce animals on pursuit being a dream like irreverence otherwise.

He was in the relative front of the mass of running soldiers, the thirty or so dwindling fast. A soldier's burst of speed caught up to Kiske, then surpassed him, the frills of his coat being kicked up by the fear induced sprint, the cloth grazing along Kiske's face. But, it was short lived, a Gear from behind leaping up in the air, thirty feet forward and only about teen feet high, it's animalistic nature giving it long extending nails, or bones...just stabbing utensils on each of its fingers and toes, all four manipulators outstretched to pierce the enemy. And it did. The spikes of all four of its palms gashed through the sprinting soldier, exhorting themselves from the front of his shirt, blood an unwanted guest of the preoccupation. He gasped out, taking another step with the Gear's talons through his chest, before he fell flat, the talon scraping along the cement as the body fell into the mass of Gears behind, swallowed by darkness, the only trace that he ever existed the curdling screams, echoing in eternity amongst them.

Ky could hear it all, the screams, pants, everything. The other soldiers were self contained, their helmets screens of reality, holding out a lot of the sounds and sights that the God-given senses would pick up and perceive. Their breaths culminated in the visor of the ask, fogged by their parched mouths and dry throats, their breaths the only solace to keep pushing them as the noise bounded back to their confined ears, a bit claustrophobic, but also allowing them to neither look back and be afraid, but also neither affording them the luxury of looking about and back and going "Shit, they're on top of me! Run faster!" It was a simple natural occurrence, the stupid animals killed by the smart, marred by their own Darwinian deficiencies, and them taken under by the forces around them. **Saying goes, put a frog in boiling water, it'll jump out instantly. Put a frog in cold water, it'll sit still. Slowly heat that cold water until it boils, and the frog will remain stationary, boiling to death inside of the pot of water.**

Ky pushed forward harder, each step thinking to be his last, not fully recovered from his tour-de-force in Paris, an aching in his left leg, and his back starting to regain some of its feeling from the wearing off effect of the pills. His unsure foot stepped forward in a lazy stride, his body leaned forward to propel his balance off ward, and make him run faster, his sword being a crutch when he needed, and if it got too bad...turn and fight. But, he ran, only kept running, the grunts and breaths of Gears down his spine enough to induce the extra boosts of speed he needed. He had been running full sprint for nearly fifteen minutes, no easy task, but he was in the moment, adrenaline rushing, everything moving at the speed of light yet also slower than a snail...it was glorious, glorious combat.

Then, the thrill stopped, hanged silent in a slow state of reality. Ky didn't know why, his mind shot about, thinking, making decisions, trying to react, but couldn't, only falling forward. He saw the oncoming cement to his face, coming up to him quickly, his fall like the descent of a meteor from the celestial galaxies finding its way to Earth, slow in comparison of how long it needs to get here, but also very fast when considering it is traveling hundreds of thousands of miles per hour.

He turned slightly, his shoulder rolling up on the cement, feeling the armor underneath grate against the cloth, ripping down the grain of the woven intricacies of the new blue-trimmed commander uniform. He now knew it, felt it, didn't need to say it; he tripped. Rubble, a body, nothing, he didn't know, but he fell, and now he was scrambling, hands reaching, feet trying to push him up but only scraping along the surface of the road slicked in dried blood.

The patter of boots passed him, the soldiers running unaware of the fallen commander, darkness and their helmets denying them that privilege. Finally, Ky stood with a limp in his leg he shook off as he tried to sprint ahead, the darkness holding the trail of the last Seikishidan soldiers in the back of its cavernous mouth, waiting to swallow. Ky ran harder, eyes closing as sweat beaded off of his furrowed eyebrows, his free hand wiping his head. Looking back up, he ran harder at his only shred of life and shred of salvation, that Seikishidan soldier he could vaguely see ahead. But, it seemed even the darkness, which sent its agents against the moon, and was helping Justice, was a morose and darkly humorous fellow, snapping its jaws shut over the trail of the last soldier, Ky's eyes deceiving him as only nothing was in front of him. But, there was plenty behind him.

"No..." he breathlessly gasped as he ran. "No!" he screamed now, his pace increasing to catch up, his echoes returning to him in stabbing points, his own breaths stabbing at his kidneys, his eyes stabbing shut, and an inevitable stab from a Gear behind. He sprinted harder, his gasps coming like clenched fists of pain, his hands tightening over themselves, the leather in his palms screeching in anger, his own blade glowing a brighter dull blue, the shattered fragments of light bounding off of it and sprouting out fingers of electricity lighting up his pursuers in an awkward azure light, there for only a second before captured by darkness again, as if the darkness sunk into form of the Gears under presence of light and then morphed back to its vacuous nothing once it was gone.

But, Ky knew they were there. He could hear those gasps...haggard gasps from broken jaws and lips, following command to kill, he could feel their hot breaths down the back of his neck, and he pushed harder, only feeling them get closer and closer. He shut his eyes and pumped his arms harder, legs slowly turning to irons under him, eyes clenched and running with a wide mouth sucking in air as he gasped it as fast as he could, sprinting further, before he felt a crunch on his shoulders.

Something hit him square between his shoulder blades, the sewed injury bleeding through its ribbons by the sudden hit, Ky screaming in a yelp of pain before toppling forward from the hit upon him. He fell forward, hand gripped on his own sword, left hand in front of him, his face buried in his elbow, his right hand forward, meeting the tar first, his glove being ripped, the synthetic leather ripped shred from shred as he slid forward, withering down to his knuckles, a few layers ofskio equally ripped off, a bloodied hand resulting from it, and no lost sword, still firmly in his grip. He heard Gears trampling behind him, almost on him, then a thud in front, the attacking Gear hitting the ground in front of him from its leaping strides where it knocked Kiske.

It turned as soon as it landed, one so much on instinct, a talon off of its foot was implanted into the ground from the massive landing, and on the turn, ripped from the skin and bone connected, cracking in a disgusting squelch of old blood, but it didn't seem to even know or care. It took one step forward, brought an arm up to attack, then fell backwards, its hand instinctively grabbing at its gut, then falling with a dry thud as it fell back on the previously left talon, dead by the time it touched the ground. A slash across its gut showed the mark, a littered blue virus or infection of electricity brimming from the incision, boiling the innards, running up along and through, underneath and above the skin, withering and turning black, caught up by the dull wind, twitching then just going dead, the blue light ceasing its mortality-stealing romp.

_Shit, get up!_ Ky took a look down, then got to his feet, and started to sprint, left hand skipping the ground as his balance was off, right hand trying to grab onto something in the air to stabilize himself, his legs pumping hard for speed but also forcing his head on a collision course with the ground. Eventually, he tripped, a small piece of rubble from a building over head, the rock fragments thrown out when the body inside had been, a man trying to protect his family, and was thrown right through a wall and down four stories, the decaying body next to the rubble and the envisioned action of how he died four weeks old, but playing in Kiske's mind when he saw how things were strewn about. Ky fell over the small hill of rocks, tumbling over one side. He tried getting up and running, but couldn't, his foot was trapped underneath a rock that had taken the roll with him over the top of the eight foot hill, and had found a nice resting place between his ankle and the covered side of the hill.

He looked around quickly and sporadically, waiting for a Gear blade to stab and kill him, yanking at his own leg, just as ready to chop it off and run on a stump than left here to be picked off. His eyes scanned the darkness, seeing nothing, the blue hues of his own sword dyed off, his hand now groping at his own ankle as the blade lied next to him, the hilt resting across his upper leg. He could hear them, they were close...so close, maybe on top of him, those breaths and trudges of their awkward, muscular feet and legs, ridden with death and pestilence, as well as an unholy power, one that was unchartered by emotion or care, one that only served to do what it was told. He pulled harder, knowing they were near, hearing them, he thought he felt the breath of one behind him, a glance into the darkness revealing nothing, afraid to leave his front side open for a second, another glance of nothing. By his third hard tug at his leg, he noticed something...the rumbling. He could hear it in front of him, to the sides of him...but past him? He heard the footsteps of Gears raking along the ground, cracking it and splintering it, their husky bodies swaying in each step with each open-mouthed, slack-jawed breath...but they were getting fainter in the distance, as the other hundreds (he couldn't tell how many) passed by him, them unaware of him.

_...How! They don't know I'm here...they must have lost me, they can't tell I'm here! God has his blessings! But, don't waste time, keep working, don't use this blessing like a completion of everything, it's only a step. Go on, get out, hurry, before they realize what happened to you. The programming...must have lost me, and they continued on their objective, thinking I kept running forward, or assumed I got killed...I don't know, but I can't waste time to find out, please God, give me the time to get out of this, here, something. Work, damnit! Start moving, pursue, kill them!_

Ky took one last look at the sky before reaching down to the crushing rubble on his foot. The moon was emerging its veil of darkness, the sheet of night and midnight cloud breaking, the bonds of slavery to Lucifer's enrapturement whittled by time, letting it come back out to shine down unmercifully upon dead and alive, as its brethren the sun has and did. Slowly, the covering coat of clouds seemed to form and wisp away into the night, like a wall that was cut down and flowed off along a river, lit dimly on the edges and frills of its transport by the shimmering silver.

* * *

"Ever seen a moon like that?" Bianca asked slowly, sitting with her legs hanging, hands secured with palms on the edge, fingers dangling, her eyes locked upward.

"...I actually have." Quint returned, removing his stare at her to the moon. "Though, not in a long time, back in Tibet."

"A year ago, you'd say?" she asked, looking back over at him with an air of curiosity.

"'Bout." He responded mildly. He sat carefully, his shattered collarbone on his left not much for support, so leaning on his right, which despite a deep gash across the shoulder was about functional. "Bianca...I want to thank you." Quint said after a sigh. She looked over at him with a new curiosity, one more intrigued than before, a wry smile on her face urging a because she didn't need to say. He smiled briefly before sighing; looking out upon Troy, then back at her.

"For this. Troy. You brought me here, you're the reason I am here...I have everything to thank of you." She blushed slightly, looking back out at the city reflecting at them.

Troy was bathed in a perceiving moonlight, one breaking free of chains of guilt. The dim yellow lights of technology and self-sustained generators and reactors spread underground and hanging atop the massive Babylonian towers giving them life, strips of that light running up and down from the sky to the darkened streets below, in a blanket of darkness, the feet of a giant always being in its shadow. The lights above, stretching to the reaches of their sight, rivaled the few stars they could see, the twinkling white veering for sky space with the yellow distant lights of small rooms and offices of upper Troy. The small catwalks like webs linking building to building, for support and transportation, had hanging lights in strips, that arced as did the suspension wires holding them, looking like a stringed piece of glittering gold in the sky, linking two stars that couldn't be reached as if to say "You and me...linked".

"...Is this gonna work?" Bianca asked timidly, her feet dangling slightly, head doing the same. They both sat on top of Bianca's apartment, the top of the third floor what was a fourth floor, that had been renovated with steel pillars and inch-thick wire suspension, leaving a space of about four feet between the new and old Troy above her, which they went up, crouched underneath, walked to the edge, and then sat underneath the building top. From the top of the building, covered in small pebbles of gravel, she could just sit and look at Troy, the vast city in every detail from a moderate perch. The four foot space between the fourth floor and the upper Troy was separated by the bottom of the building above, a thick steel that had its fair share of graffiti and dents, but couldn't be broken, using her building as a step to hold itself higher.

"What?" Darton asked, caught off guard by the question.

"How is this going to work between us?" she asked seriously, looking straight at him. He took a deep breath, looking around, then back at her.

"It won't be too hard. I mean, we take every day as it comes, right?" She only looked at him with more intent, a very solemn and serious glance chiseled into her smooth and effeminate features. "Well...what do you want me to say, Bianca? I don't have a place, I just got here."

"Not that, I don't mean that."

"I don't got a job."

"Not that."

"What." He said more than asked.

"...Us." She said rather at a whisper. "...After the talk we had earlier in the bar, I've been thinking...I don't know what to do, really. I have these mixed feelings..."

"For what?" Quint asked intently, but with enough reality and passion behind it to not be a redundant and idiotic question.

"Ugh, Quint...I don't know if I can trust you...well, not that. We've already spilt our shit to each other, it's not past or background...I can't trust people, I never have, I never could. I've always been an orphan, with friends to help me out when I needed it, but I never needed it, I always got my own way by because of what I did, and I can't live any other way, it's not right to me..."

"I'll protect you." Quint said very seriously and monotone.

"I don't need protection" she protested, trying to find words to her problem.

"I'll be there for you, then." He said very matter-of-factly.

"No..."

"I will always be there for you, Bianca." She opened her mouth to protest, then shut it, looking down, then at the night sky, the beams of silver shining through the buildings and fighting the unnatural light filtering through the silver in warlike counter arrows of a different color, marking territory. She finally sighed, looking back down at Darton.

"Always?" she whispered, looking at him intently.

"I said always." He replied with a smile. "You hardly knew me, and you brought me here, out of faith...I owe you, I owe you big."

"...No, you don't. I just wanted someone, and you seemed like a good choice, I didn't expect you to come, I wanted someone, somebody there..."

"...So did I." He muttered back to her. She smiled slowly, then leaned over to him, their sitting positions next to each other, both looking ahead, accommodating a different one, Quint's right arm around Bianca who leaned on his chest. She looked out at the sky scrapers and small webs of pathways and the high walls of Troy, falling like play pens in comparison to the height of the massive towers, but still high enough to defend from invasion. She blinked a few times, shuddering a little, nerves racked and brittle.

_Slow down, girl...you'll be alright, don't worry, it's okay, you'll be fine...with him. He said he'll be there, he's got no where to go, right? He'll be there, don't be afraid...don't be afraid...just sleep, be comfortable, for once...you've got something, someone, just stick with it..._

Quint had a different idea on his mind. His right hand had Bianca by her right shoulder, her left leaning into him, his thumb rubbing up and down her arm in a methodical movement, her own warmth and body near his just enough of a sensation to keep him at full alert...but his mind wasn't at full alert. He had an amalgamation, a war running through his head..._and that moon, that damn moon, something's wrong, I know it_, _I only seen that moon when bad things happen...don't screw this one up for me, God. You did too much shit in the past, I don't like you, I don't really believe in you God, but if you fuck this up...if you get in this one, with Bianca, with me...you won't sleep a day until I find you, you won't do anything with us, you will not, I won't let you..._

"I'll be there for you, Bianca..." he whispered in a low voice, his head dipping down to hers, and softly kissing her forehead before looking back up at that midnight moon. I'll be there for you, Bianca...I failed my brother, I failed my family, I even failed Ky Kiske, now that I'm dead, now that I'm here...I won't not be there for anyone else. I won't live in the fear or shadow of a life gone by, nor in that fear that if something happens, I'd be unable to protect myself or the ones I love...no, never again, not in Troy...I'll protect you if I need to, Bianca...I'll be there for you, I'll protect you, from anyone, even from God..."

Zeronova's Notes:  
Wow...150k. 30 Chapters. That's an accomplishment, one hell of an accomplishment, and only 57k more until I am the winner of longest GG story (Damn you, Talon! I shall yet hold that title!). But, in all honesty, this really is something far and beyond what I thought I'd be doing when I started doing a bit of DG dabbling back in May 2004...that 30 chapters, 150k later, I'd be going strong and healthy, Desolate Gail...and wow, how it is coming. It's coming alright, and it's going to finish too, oh baby is it. I'd like to take this time to thank some people though.

Samuraiter, for being about the only person who knows what happens in DG anyways since of all the ideas we bounce off of each other, and being a good person to just have a good conversation with. Still awaiting a review, but hey, how many times did Halo 2 get pushed back, and it was still good.

P.W.M.A., jeez, you've been with DG since the original, you knew all of the turns and twists up to about THIS point right NOW, so this is where I get to spook you out. Thanks for being a consistent reviewer, and well, a GG fan. Now that you've got OCOS in the running and are using the type of GG I like (harsh reality), plus our little ideas for the future, it'll be awesome to see what we get out of these next few months, from each of our stories and our ideas.

TWH, a new reviewer, but a good, long reviewer. Your story's coming along slowly but surely, it's got a lot going behind it, it just needs some steam behind the drive to get it posted and written. Can't wait to see what comes out of you in the future, and thanks for being a reader.

KR2, for being the rival with which the original DG competed.

Nik Hasta, for being another good reviewer, and for not being a total ass in my review of your story (which wasn't too nice of me). You took it well, and then pulled a great mature thing and really went the full mile on being a reviewer and good kind of guy.

Lone Wolf/Sheo Darren...you two, while not really reviewers of my stuff, have been in the GG running ever since us oldies died out (before our resurfacing, kinda), and with each of your third installments winding up, it seems like you both have just been around a while, without much of interaction between us. Though, a nod of that of course to fellow writers.

And, to my family/friends, whom I shamefully neglected and put through hell when writing this, both for the periods of "I'M ON THE COMPUTER, LEAVE ME ALONE!", and the all-nighters with WinAmp blasting to wake up two hours later and go to school, but thanks for what it is worth (such as Danai waking me up in A.P. U.S. History...).

Whoever else I missed, sorry, but this is only about halfway! Don't worry, plenty more a-coming! We have the end of Arc II coming up around Chapter 40 (ha, yeah, right, try about 55), then we head into the final arc, which will be about 10-15 chapters, ending on such a high note and with such ferocity as to leave you stunned, appalled, in a general stupor, and terrified, yet begging for more! On the way from DESOLATE GAIL, DUN DA DUN DAAAAAAAA! (I love 50's advertising...).  
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	31. Arc 2: To party

_Where...where do I go? Think, damnit...what would Ky think?_ Sergeant Rivarez's head pivoted on his shoulders like a well oiled barney chair, spinning freely, looking into the darkness around him, illuminated by the dull red glows of the eyes of the Gears, sparks of clashing swords, and the escaping moon from the deathly wispy fingers of the black clouds.

"Come on! Move to the rendezvous point, now!" he screamed, waving his hand above his head, inhibited by the armor strapped to his body slightly, words stuffing themselves in echoes into his own ears and sporadic breathing bounding from the encasing helmet, keeping silent the sounds of Gears around him. A few soldiers were randomly fighting around him, standing in the center of a small huddle. He reached out, grabbed one quickly, pulling the private back out of the way of a vertical Gear slash, stabbing his own sword into the attacking Gear, falling dead on the blade of the sword, then sliding off. The private looked up terrified through the visor, quaked in drops of vapor from his open mouth breathing in hard from work and fear. He threw the soldier with his hand, who stumbled on one leg, then started a sprint, other slowly following.

He fended off the attacks of the now enemy-less Gears, their adversaries now fleeing, boot steps echoing in the darkness back to Rivarez, each attack glinting off of his blade, as well as a bit of dodging involved. His Spaniard heritage left him with a more slender and agile approach to most things, as was his culture adapted to. His hair, matted underneath his helmet, was shortly cut, a black line of curly hair that only stretched about a centimeter off of his head, if uncurled, was possibly 5 or 6 centimeters long, but was curled so tight and flat, that his hair was very short anyway, with a complacent black stubbly beard also, still growing into his adult frame, about twenty-eight.

Dodging a lumbering Gear, whose footing was lost from a large overhead swipe that clanged off of the ground as Rivarez stepped to the side, he gave a quick jab to another Gear, knocking it back a foot, then turning around and running, a quick slash of his sword to the large monster who was starting to turn from his slow fall forward at his missed slash, the blade retreating as soon as it came from Rivarez, a clean cut across its neck leaving it dead on the ground after a loud thump, crushing a few bodies underneath it into indiscernible pulp. Rivarez grabbed another apathetic soldier from fighting from his entanglement with a Gear, rushing forward, the light trails of the soldiers ahead illuminated by the white coat frills that glowed an eerie silver as it caught the silver of the moon, cupping it into a quicksilver goblet.

The light cast haunting long streaks across the death and decay of Lyon, bodies hanging from sides of buildings, strewn under and between rubble, piles of body in alleys where the Gears would have fed by basic biological supplementation or to be razed, piece by piece, for Justice's purpose of gathering DNA for more Gears, even though he could synthesize his own perfect strands. The sides of the wide street dipped in a little, then jutted straight up to a side walk, slats down to the sewer they had walked through earlier, a pile of bodies flashing to Rivarez' left and then into darkness as he sprinted by, the stagnant pooling blood invading his nostrils, and the slight _drip-drip-drip_ down to the drain echoing in eternity.

But, the Gears weren't far behind, their husky breaths and moist gasps chilling the spines of those about to be overtaken. Rivarez ran harder, now pushing his body to its limit, drips of sweat beading on the tip of his Spaniard nose and dripping onto his chin or onto the visor in front of him, his breath only making a sauna around his head in the encapsulating helmet.

The sides of his view could show other fleeing soldiers, a few running in limping stride from gashes across legs or stab wounds in their abdomens that they fought through, the red blood seeping across the oleic armor and the holy white of the uniforms. The Gears came from behind, running along walls next to them, jumping from small lamp posts, relics of years gone by when they used to be powered before the Crusades, slicing the concrete with their bodies as they flew forward at a wraith like speed, picking off stragglers in the back with a quick stab, the soldier falling dead with a blade through his sternum, or a quick slash in the ribs or neck to end it, a Gear prying its sword out of the side of a dying soldier, gurgling on his own blood that trickled into his throat before being silenced.

The long shadows of the moon draped across the streets languidly, leaving bits and pieces of the silvery light to pervade the cracked and destroyed buildings, through alleys and over deserted lives. Rivarez hung a quick right at the next street, boot slipping on small fragments of glass from a window three stories up where a man was thrown down from a month ago in the initial invasion of Lyon, the body sitting in decay on the off side of the road, but Rivarez was quick to take another step, and resume his full sprint, following the Seikishidan soldiers in front of him.

To him, it was priority. To Rivarez, the Seikishidan was life, nothing else. Commanders, Gears, Commander Gears, it was all ritual, fighting the enemy, saluting, leading attacks, rescue missions, dealing with the U.N., all of it a normal lifestyle. He saw no future change in it, nor did he want it, it was simply that of a soldier. He had his duties, being a high ranking official, but what it came down to was this, on the run from Gears ready to die at any second, fighting for your life...that's why he was part of the Seikishidan.

His following breath fogged up the visor in front of him, the scared choked breath from his unsure foot on the glass shards to the running pace again. He reached up, threw off the helmet, exposing his black, short hair to the cool night, light winds whispering rumors and lies about victory or defeat to the soldiers. He heard it clang behind him as it dropped to the ground, bouncing on the cement, then a distinctive crack as it was trampled over by Gears behind. The enemy was concealed in darkness, seen only in small snippets when the light showed them between their nocturnal chase, the slats of silver giving an evil glare to the swarming mass of Gears, of biological, thoughtless, slaves, all acting as one under unity, rushing and killing.

He saw a slight flash of something to the side of him, the brief moment in the light between towering buildings like the fingers of Lucifer, cutting off the light to the humans, some figure. He raised his sword to attack to his left, the outline of the figure visible in the darkness. A few more steps and another building past, a shot of silver from the moon, and he quickly reprimanded his sword, running faster. Another soldier was there, next to him, another sergeant, who had also discarded his helmet (as most soldiers did after a while in that armor).

Jaygus crept his legs up the pavement harder, each long stride of his awkwardly aging frame sending a slight jolt of pain up his left side, but he kept running, neck and neck with the so called Rivarez who had come to meet him and Ky on their return from Geneva. Personally, he had no admiration of the ma, a modest soldiers friendship. **Dating back to when nations used forces against others, there's been a thing called soldier's friendship. Even if the soldier next to you was a man of color, and you hated that, or he was smarter than you, or anything, there was a mutual friendship. You put that shit behind you, you left your prejudices and worries at home, because on the battlefield, that man you hate, well, he's still on your side, so remember that. Stemming from that usually comes people that, while sharing an unwritten law, become close, even those of enemies when not on the battlefield, it's something like that each of your lives is in each other's hands, and coming back from a day of bloodshed, you still have it...meaning that the soldier next to you made sure you did, and vice versa. It's kind of amazing how it works out, how people can live in such conditions, such ways...to the point of eternal hatred, but when something like war comes, unifies them, they retain that hatred, but it becomes secondary to the point at hand. No matter what rank, what division, base, anything, on the battlefield, a private and even the Commander of the Seikishidan can share the same values, the same friendship while fighting Gears, since they're both human...that is the soldier's friendship.**

Through the sweat that Jaygus brushed off with his free hand, wounds bandaged and far away, he continued his pace. _I've seen too much...lived through too much, no wounds, nothing will hurt me too much...not in God's embrace. The blood turns to scars, and scars don't hurt. It shouldn't hurt now, because it would only serve to make me more vulnerable and have me wear the eternal scar of death...no, not in God's embrace, not shall my wounds from previous and now afflict me, not after the Krieg, not after what he did to me and my family, not after any of it, nothing can stop me short of God's hand. Come on, Jaygus, pick it up, move!_

"Ahead!" Rivarez choked out between open mouthed gasps for air his tongue dry in his mouth, bits of sweat dripping from his ears and accentuated Spanish features, such as jutting cheek bones and a long nose, as well as more prominent, chiseled eyebrows. Jaygus only looked ahead, the falling rays of the moon lighting a small cul-de-sac, bits of white uniforms filing in from another two connecting streets, the cul-de-sac like a teardrop on an apex of a frame. The Gears swarmed in from the other sides too, falling over the edge of their buildings, engulfing one soldier never to be seen except in scraps again, as well as a secondary group mixing from another road in, the white uniforms mixed with black armor condensing into a lightly packed mess of soldiers, the third portion coming in from behind.

Small shots of light, ranging from dull oranges to vibrant blues lit through the rows of soldiers and Gears fighting in front of the sprinting third group of soldiers. The light ran underneath their feet, between their heads, the source or why not exactly shone, but obvious as to what it was, the fading and flashing lights being brought in and taken out of the world as quick as they came, giving texture and definition to the textureless and lifeless evils that plagued man-kind for a hundred years.

"God be with us!" Jaygus screamed, merging into the static group of Gears standing between him and the rest of the Seikishidan, the few soldiers left in the platoon underneath Rivarez's lead plowing through the perimeter of the enemy, the Gears not knowing about the attack from behind, few being flayed, and the soldiers bursting through to their comrades.

They stumbled through, collecting themselves as their enemy waited, looking at them. The flock following Rivarez merged with the other two, the mass now like a black pool o death, slowly fanning out, small dots of red lining the darkened living puddle of Gears, all acting as one, following commands and orders perfectly, moving in mechanical unison. The Seikishidan bunched together slightly, stepping back into the cul-de-sac as the Gears slowly stepped around.

Tension ran high as the brief time they had to rest, watching the Gears try to corner them in the cul-de-sac, slowly moving outward to each edge, making a semi-circle that faced entirely inward on the humans. They were covered in the shade of a building, their steps seeming to move inwaverably from the shade of the ruined cul-de-sac and its neighbors, the humans put in the gray light, watching to see if a foot of darkness dare step in the metallic blue light.

"Glad you boys could join the party, just a wee bit late, bitches" Sol chuckled, standing slightly crouched, his sword in one hand, tip still touching the ground as usual, but in more of a running and action stance than his usual lackadaisical stance.

"Shut up" Ky spat back venomously, pushing through the rows of soldiers to the front. He wiped the sweat from his bangs, and bangs from his eyes, surveying the Gars surrounding them with a thirty-foot buffer. He breathed shallowly while looking, seeing the Gears receiving new orders, eyes rolling in their heads and thinking, all moving as one as they enclosed the cul-de-sac and slowly starting inwardly advancing. Low menacing growls and yelps of excitement found their way to the ears of the frightened, the Gears instinctively using their animalistic traits by order or not, not helping morale or feeling to the Seikishidan soldiers.

"This is it! This is Lyon! We die here or we kill them all and we live, we take back Lyon! And after Lyon, we take back our world!" Ky shouted, spitting after his words, his sword's power dancing along the ground in azure ballets, the electricity slicking the tar and cement, small pebbles and rubble, running along it, through the cracks, up and down bodies, leaving smoldering small trails where the bolt was, even the sword feeling anticipation. The soldiers made a solidifying hurrah together, though eyes never leaving the Gears in front of them, slowly emerging from shadow into the dull light.

"Just fight, boy," Sol said, flicking the end of the butt of the cigarette he had picked up from the street earlier. "And, I need another cig before I really get angry" he said to a muffled chuckle of his own, a deep voice giving a hint of a double edge maliciousness in it, eyes finding the Gears in front of him, picking out one to kill first, thinking about what he'd do, how'd he do it, arrogant and cocky, not thinking about maybe he'd get hit, maybe he could get killed, but no, not to Sol Badguy, not to this bounty hunter. "Now, let's get this done" he said, nodding to Ky in a slight mocking style, that he looked him in the eyes, and that he was challenging his authority. Though, going back to a soldier's friendship, Ky didn't care too much, it wasn't important enough now, the Gears were. They both took their steps forward, weapons in hand, the other soldiers behind them following in place, screaming battle cries and prayers with each step and slash. The Gears picked up pace also, all forming into a run from their methodical walk, the soldiers spreading out to the semi circle evenly, meeting in a ferocious clang of steel, screaming of the dying and dead, splats of blood, and the cry of God in vain.

* * *

"What time do you think it is?" Bianca asked slowly, more like a whisper, but Quint heard it.

"Maybe two" he whispered back, not having to talk much since she was very close to him, leaning on him, his right hand wrapped around her, both looking out upon Troy.

"Think we should head in?"

"...No. There's something nice about this night...I don't want it to end."

"...Me neither." She said slowly, hesitantly, as if her previous question of asking to leave was a direct insult.

"In plus...that moon, something is wrong...I know it."

"About the stupid moon again," she said smiling, looking up at him, her hand reaching up to his face. Her hand slowly caressed his face, cupping it and running up and down it, a bit rough from not shaving and covered by his longer than usual hair. "So, what's up with the moon, huh?"

"Saw that same moon in Tibet, I told you that. You know about Tibet?"

"Only what news we get here in Troy, which ain't much." She used her hand to slowly wrap around the back of his head from its holding position, then she brought his face to hers, looking at his eyes through his mess of hair, seeing them clear as day. "Tell me," she whispered through her soft lips, each whisper lulling with a scent of her own lips, floating to Darton not but inches from her.

"Sure is a story night with you," he whispered back, smiling slightly.

"Well, I need something to do with a room mate, eh?" She smiled mischievously, an obvious double meaning to the connotation, but her expression going back to her question about Tibet without saying it.

"Well...about a year ago, Kliff had just got a U.N. report. Namely, of where Justice was. This was after the _De La Morte_ attack, so a lot of troops were stationed in Asia anyway, after the fun incident in Mongolia, which I also participated in. And, this was also right before good ol' boy got his job as Commander."

"You mean Kiske" she said with a marked fervor.

"Yeah, Kiske" he said with a slight disdain, thinking back to the ledge on Floor F. "Anyway...the operation launched a full scale attack of all troops to where the U.N. had found Justice to be hiding. Really, he wasn't hiding, he was just kind of there, since what the hell is the reason for hiding in Tibet? Anyway, we made good time, but trashed one of the MTs in the process, and we went as far uphill as we could go with the trucks before we headed it on foot. We went up Everest..."

"Makes sense now, that mission had high casualties, despite being a success," she said, matter of factly.

"Yeah, you wouldn't believe it...it was exactly that." **You may be saying, how Mount Everest? Well, it's actually kind of simple, really. From history books I have studied, from my friend, the Italian Library, destroyed and littered with books for me to peruse while it suffers the effects of time, Mount Everest was only climbed by a few people initially, and technology came around, helped them out, but still, not easy. Highest peak, hardly any air, yadda yadda, right? Remember what I said happened in 2099? Last supreme offensive of the modern world. Humans used all of their technology, mainly the former United States, pinpointed the Gear base, and launched all of their missiles, troops, tanks, everything there. Nothing was there, Justice had fooled all of them, using decoy troops and the like, not to mention having control over their technology, since how adaptively built he was. Then, the United States was slaughtered out of existence, and the war devolved to sword and tooth. Anyway, on that day...so many bombs, so many lives lost, all of it had a type of negative effect on the world, such as changed weather climates. Weather patterns changed, some tropical places became ice caps, other places had more different changes, but for the most part, it was kind of a minor change, but still noticeable. Most places in the world remained unaffected by the launching of all of those nuclear warheads, except for the ice caps, and tropical regions, both suffering huge differences in temperature, as well as bits of the world (and this is rumor) in the Philippines area sinking down into the southern ice caps. Just kind of an interesting look at how the world was. Back to point, Everest is much more habitable now, well, it's not easy by any measure, but it could be traversed by troops.**

"Basically, Kliff led five or six thousand of us up those slopes, we set up a temp base half way up to transport more in by way of MT, and when we had significant force, we headed up the mountain, in nothing much more than our normal garbs. It was cold; some died of frostbite pretty soon, and some just kept going, body heat keeping them warm, and determination. Not much snow, at all, on Everest, really rocky, but ice flows on those winds like you wouldn't believe" he said, running his finger along Bianca's cheek as if his finger were ice itself, a small smile elicited by her.

"There are rumors what happened, since I don't know the truth. There were no Gears on the way up, I mean, you don't really need Gears if you're based on Everest...but still, it didn't seem right. As we got to the very top, Kliff took initiative, and ran ahead, leaving all of us behind. Then, the Gears came, from behind rocks, under cliffs, like they popped out of the ground, and they attacked. They had ice on their bodies, they had been sitting in wait a while, but they were Gears, didn't matter. We suffered heavy casualties by the surprise attack, and the weather didn't help much either. We finally mopped the rest of them up, and we see Kliff approach us again, burn holes and bruises all over him. And, something I'll never forget is he came down with his eyes scanning the ground in front of his feet, kind of like he was unsure of what to do, then when he reached the surviving amount of soldiers, leveling off at about 200 of the 6000, he saw the body piles we were stacking and putting in pyres. And, there was his son, Tesu Undersn."

"...Kliff had a son?" Bianca asked, sitting up slightly, not knowing the truth.

"Yeah, it's kind of a secret. Anyway, his son, rumor has it, was on his first mission and all, wanted to be there, and was killed. Kliff left the body, keeping composure, heading back to basin, and then to Paris. Never said nothing about it after that, but when he saw the body, I could see his own body break, his soul shatter, he wanted to cry, shed at least one single tear for the fallen, but he couldn't, only turned, and walked to the MTs and basin about ten miles down hill, no soldier following him."

"Far as U.N. said, it was a success, Justice was driven from Tibet, and the casualties justified, which is complete bullshit. We didn't launch another big op for a while, keeping our keeps on land and keeping Gears in check. U.N. didn't tell us missions, we didn't report to U.N., both sides were bitter. Then, four or fie months ago, Kliff steps down all of a sudden, appointing Kiske, and we know what happened from there."

"...Wow." She said with a stupor. "You know...I always spend a lot of time around the Seikishidan, being a fake A.A. and all, and these stories, the soldiers...I never got it. I always would have done my job, gotten things to sell, and left, dead bodies and Gears alike, not much to me...but when these stories, people with emotions are brought to the front of the fights, really makes me wonder...like sometimes, how can Troy sit here and do nothing?" Quint laughed a little, his own hand rubbing her face playfully now, bringing her green eyes to his brown ones.

"Don't you try and change the world on me, I like it how it is right now, Seikishidan there, Troy here." He said with a slightly playful air. She smiled at him, him smiling back, then looking out to that moon again. "I saw that moon when I ran up the slopes of Everest, killing those Gears, it was the only light we had. Clouds covering it like it was trying to snare it, but moon breaking free in an otherwise cloudless black night...that moon doesn't show for nothing."

"It's just the _moon_," she groaned.

"Come on, you can't say you're not superstitious sometimes...but, that moon, there's something happening, something big. Seikishidan attack, Gear attack, something, but a lot of death...lot of it. And, for once, that moon rises on me not in uniform, not fighting with them."

"I may not be superstitious, but I'll be thankful for that. You're now here with me, not there fighting."

"And it's where I prefer it." He leaned down, her free hand spreading his long brown hair from in front of his face to meet her lips, both kissing for a moment, slightly. She was soft, very woman like, a touch of forcefulness in her forwardness at him with her lips, but it didn't matter to Darton, who found pure solace in having someone there. She leaned back, smiling, looking at him before turning back to the night sky of Troy in front of them, leaning in his embrace, her head on his shoulder.

"Speaking of being where you prefer it...we got business tomorrow."

"...Business?" he asked cautiously, eyes stuck on the moon.

"Yeah, gotta get you registered and shit. Troy loves to know everything, even about the lower city scum. And, that's where _â€˜you prefer it'_" she said mockingly "so, we've got to do it. It's easy, and I think it's great to see how Troy works. We'll do it tomorrow morning."

"Fine, whatever...tomorrow morning, tomorrow afternoon, afternoon day after that, forever away...I don't care, just sit here with me, Bianca. Be here with me" he said, tightening his grip slightly on her. She leaned into him more, sighing.

"I can do that, Mr. Seikishidan" she joked, eyes surveying out across Troy, and the moon, stuck between two towering buildings, shining through their vertical challenge.

Zeronova's Notes:  
And now we have two things. The beginning of the Krieg unearthing(which is a very heavy Jaygus part, and I am working closely with him to make sure it works), and Tibet (something else we are both working on closely). A lot of ideas stem from both of our ideas (Samuraiter and I) and collaboration, though we have entirely different stories, and we each author ours, but to fit with each other's, you know? Anyway, more Lyon next week, probably the finale, and we get more Darton/Bianca here, not to mention we get to see how Troy works as a government and how people live in such a place (one of my weaknesses is fluid detail in life (but I've tried to infuse a lot of it to work on it), everyday life and government, how it just works, even in a fantasy world, because it has to have a _way_ it works, you know?)  
-


	32. Arc 2: And lo, the battle ends

_Backed into a corner...like a rat. Like filthy rats, ready to be exterminated. Though, you cannot dart one way or another, evade capture, enrapturing me further to find and kill you...I have you now. Dear boy, so fervent in your attacks...you look almost like him. Like Kliff...I see it in you, as I saw in him. That, despite your short comings as a human, and though I put no human on stature, as they are all pathetic whelps, you shine...oh how you do. Like Kliff, I see it in you, I see how you can come over your boundaries as a human and as a person, doing the extraordinary, going the extra mile, doing the last you could..._

_It almost makes me want to let you live. I would have liked to have seen us in the future, you and me Kiske, just us, battling, face to face or even through one of my minions, one of my Gears. I could see it..._

_Here, in Lyon. Then, in Venice. Maybe a little tour by Dresden-3, which I hear is slowly turning 4. A battle in the sharp sands of Africa, and maybe a small offensive stint over in the lower Asia, on the sands of the Philippines, you and me, dueling it out with water around our feet, blades mashing, your blood and sweat compensating for this body I wear..._

_But, I cannot let it. You will die, here, tonight, Kiske. I wonder who will succeed you, if anybody. If another young person of service will jump up into that blue uniform and lead the world to another round of death and destruction against me...or if it'd fall into peril. What would happen with the strength of man when its savior was killed, would it crumble under the structural posts made of its own hands, the fingers not able to hold the corpse of its salvation? I'll soon see...morning rise over your dead body, the strewn dead of Lyon, these buildings sitting as modifiers, playing light through cracks and holes blown through to either illuminate or cast you in shadow by the aging sun, waxing from its rise to its death, your death eternal._

_What would they do if I let them have your body? Would they parade it in the streets of whatever city was most holy at the time, people crying, even Kliff showing up to pay his gratitude to his fallen successor...now twice. Women would be crying in the streets, holding children in fear of knowing they'd be short of time to ever hold again, people throwing themselves from buildings, conviction of death soon. The streets would be lined with believers of Christ, praying a resurrection, praying something, so that their lives would be saved, clutched bible and crucifix in hand. There'd be priests standing above crowds of people kneeling, all praying for God to save them, even the priest wary in words, hands trembling as he read scripture, unsure of even God's own existence in recent events..._

_Or, I'd let the body rot here, decay devouring it, blood drained and have it slung up over the north side of the town, for symbolic purposes, and for the next parties coming in seeing their savior hanging by his own sinew. Would they know of your death, Ky? Or would they send another team to save you, like at the Parisian Headquarters? Only time will tell, and your death._

_Yet, I would have liked to have known you, Kiske. Asides from our previous encounter at the Parisian Headquarters, you and I had no real offensive together...you were in Tibet, I know that, part of the new recruits at the time, yet who you were, your importance...none of it mattered to me. Only after putting on that blue-lined robe and wielding that sword, the sword which is in every way a symbol of hatred and defeat of me...it's very existence both clarifying my own by nature and damning me...I knew it was you, you who would lead the war further. And unlike Kliff, who I had always seen to never know the end of the war, you had that look in your eyes on that elevator...you knew the war would end one way or another in coming time, and you'd make sure of it._

_So, would you kill me, if I let you live? Lead an offensive against me, slay me down, save humankind, kill the Gear scourge, and do it all in the name of God? I am rather certain you could...you would stab me dead, looking over my corpse with finality, and you'd do it with the same glee I have when I stab down humans...I know you would, I see it. When you fight, how you move, your face...you love battle, you love Gears, you love the killing and the excitement of it, only entailing a personal grievance later in finding joy in it. You are not alone, dear Commander...I too enjoy it, I was made for it, I was entirely built for this, the killing, the bloodshed, the battle...you and I, I assume._

_I, crafted from the hands of men to make men more powerful, but they made me too powerful for them, and I killed them all...those bastards who experimented on me, in that tube...for years, I can remember, halfway awake, halfway asleep...a burning tingle always keeping me awake, a stab that had no insurging point, a slow oozing wound that didn't exist, toying at me...floating in that tube of blue liquids, I could see you all sitting outside, tapping it with marked ardor, recording down the readings on clip boards, running to monitors and computers, talking amongst each other, then subjecting me to more tests..._

_I don't even know what they made me from...was I a human? Was I some field animal, brought in and manipulated until my brain could remember...the neurons bombarded until they had super-human qualities? Or, was I like Frederick, a test patient human, who then became something more...I dwell on it so often. Yet, Ky, you are a mere human, crafted from the hands of God, born to a mother and father unknown, and yet rising above your human limits...leading the offensive against Gears world wide as only a child, sixteen years old...the weight of the world on your shoulders, yet you aptly hold it up, staring back at the world who presses down harder upon you, your legs in iron, not budging._

_But, your creator...you serve with interest, with love. Mine, I dealt them their toll. That one day...it was in 2074...I knew it had to be, since later, soon there after, by days or weeks, I took control of the small outpost, the computers wiring them to me and my suit, and I assumed control over the Gears...I started the war. That day though...they all were gathered, faces distorted by the mucus like liquid and the convex of the glass, and slowly, the liquids emptied from holes in the bottom of the tube, my feet touching ground for the first time I can remember, my body slowly crumpling against one side, muscles never used before, my eye sight terrible from never having truly used them...and the tube slowly slid down too. I was suspended in place by the wires and ropes that had me strung to the ceiling of the tube, suspending me like a doll...I looked up, their faces burned into my memory, joyous and laughing, popping bottles of wine and enjoying their success: me._

_Slowly, I gathered my strength as they socialized and were unaware that I was more than a reason to get drunk...ripping wires from my flesh, I fell to the ground, slowly stood. One lady noticed me, screamed, but I quickly grabbed her entire face in my palm, crushing her bones together, and threw the obese women in a red dress into three other scientists...killing all of them, as they smashed into an electrical switchboard. The lights went off with that...my vision, acclimated by them, showing me their frantic running at the situation, going for doors and escape hatches, but I killed them...everyone of them, and they deserved it. I loved it...their deaths were justified, what they did to me, and I took pleasure in killing them, ripping parts off of their bodies to examine...look at the human body, think, learn...and soon, I found the suit, found their experiments, and foolish of them to leave it all for me...and then, I assumed command...I started this war you fight, Kiske._

_What am I saying...I'm trying to talk to you, though I cannot...tell my words, tell my story to who, a human? Ha, pathetic...not dignified, especially not him. Maybe you, Kliff...but not him. And, what have I done? Left Siren to dictate a battle...not a terrible idea, but neither a good one. You are a trusted companion, Siren, though I do not trust you as far as I should or can, being written by humans and you thus being faulty...yet, I have tried, many times, to write a better battle A.I., a more useful and overall helping integrated program, but you are the best, my love...a constant reminder, even after the last human is slain, that I will always be a part of their race, unavoidable, from you..._

_Switch units 679B to 198O to manual control, offensive pattern Q. Re-route subdirectories of Gear soldier instincts to overclocked procedure 8P. Forget the caution, do it. Yes, encircle...kill them all. Take the aft rows, pull them back and around...bring them across the buildings behind the cul-de-sac, close them in from all sides...initiate protocol 12-41G. Come on, Kiske...let me see what you have, show me your life, show me all of it, give your very best, fight your bones raw, fight till your soul has to be pried from you...because this is your night to die, and if you were smart, you'd fight with it all, instead of spending an eternity regretting it..._

Bolts of electricity jumped through the Gears, one Gear taking the initial attack, falling dead as the blue rose out of it and jumped to three near it, the uholy sparks taking with it as many Gears as it could, the magic infused into their DNA acting like a conductor to the equally magically-created electricity, drawing it near to them, the bolts being not like the true bolts of electricity, but more so the abomination of Frederick, Gear killing weapons through and through.

Ky took one slash horizontal, turning to another set of Gears and another horizontal slash, drips of sweat cascading off of his face as he suddenly jerked side to side, swinging without hitting Gear, but knowing that he didn't need to. The cries echoed in the night, filling the empty hallways and rooms of the city in ruin, falling on dead ears of both man and Gear, the cul-de-sac only shooting the death back at them.

A soldier next to Ky contended with his own Gear, their swords bashing together blow after blow, blocking and side stepping. It took one vertical slash, which the lieutenant side stepped, a quick jab to its face sending it stepping back with its hind foot, then a stab through its torso, it only looking up at him grunting and then raising its arm to attack again, impervious to the pain. The soldier tried removing his sword to attack, but the Gears free hand wrapped around the edge of it, the open and haggard jaw dripping with saliva, hitting on its flesh-rotten knees, cascading off of torn and shredded muscles below. It tugged harder on the blade, ripping through its own back, as to make sure the human would be in its trajectorial swing, the soldier tugging on the grip as hard as he could, eyes switching back and forth between his sword and the enemies, who was coming down upon him.

_There! He'll die! Do something, Kiske! Don't let another soldier die you could save...no, we can't do anything, we'll get killed, he's five feet away and a second of time...think, move, do something! Have faith, hope!_ Ky took one more quick slash, the brilliant blue illuminating the hidden faces of Gears in front of him before he sprinted to his left, lowering his shoulder and smashing into the lieutenant, sending him to the tar ground, his arm a battering ram as he hit. The Gear wasn't quick enough to respond to the new query, its blade coming down equally vertically, hitting Kiske who know was lying on the ground from where he had tackled the other soldier out of the way. Kiske held his right fore arm up, trying to shield his face, the blade cracking into the poly-carbon plastic blue armor plate, the Seikishidan issue gauntlet the two halves held on his forearm by a belt, it cracking inward with a sickening split, the blade still digging into his flesh, only partially because of the armor, since if it were absent, he'd have no hand.

Ky gasped in pain, grunting, then brought up his sword, in left hand, the Gear reeling back from the lifting elevator of electricity sending it hurling backward, flesh eaten off of bone before it ever landed, ashes sprinkling the heads of Gears behind it.

"Thank you, sir!" the lieutenant gasped in wide eyes.

"Fight!" Ky yelled at him, swinging at another Gear as he stood. The soldier nodded, finding a sword attached to a now dead Seikishidan, prying the fingers off of the hilt, and then running head first into the crowd of Gears to fight again.

The stagnant offensive had the Seikishidan spread thin in an arc across the cul-de-sac, the Gears on offense pushing them inward, buckling from the soldiers being killed and the numbers dwindling. The total that had come to the cul-de-sac before being picked off must have been not much higher than a hundred and fifty, of roughly five hundred and fifty who made the trip...it was a quick massacre. Here, the Gears, probably numbering over thee hundred, were trying to drive humans from their abode.

**Lyon didn't need the sort of large scale attack force of over ten thousand, like the Seikishidan H.Q. did, merely because it was destroyed. Lyon had been recolonized by radical fundamentalists trying to find a new home, build their own, maybe Lyon-2. They came through the ruined Lyon, only setting up life in the center of the city, leaving the outskirts as destroyed as they had sat for years and years. They were a peaceful colony, living free of the U.N. jurisdiction and Gears, neither parties seeing a few crazy Mormons as anything to monitor. They slowly grew, maybe about 1500 before the Gears came, and with no Seikishidan to help them, it fell, about three or four weeks before the siege at the Parisian base.**

**Obviously, the Gears took Lyon as a pinnacle strategy point in Western Europe, able to send attacks to many places from there, and the offensive to Paris stemmed from there. They were gaining passage to Lyon rather effortlessly, having slaughtered all resistance on the way, Lyon being kind of an alcove for Gears to stagnate in until they were needed. Most had been sent to the Seikishidan H.Q., and most killed there, the thousands of bodies, human and Gear, people counted by the U.N. in the previous few days. So, Lyon was weak, but still, not that weak. **

**The inner city had more carnage than the outskirts, when they entered, simply because it was the hub of life. The more people and procreation, they slowly expanded outward, rebuilding ruins and finding new homes, but staying close to the center of the city with the rest of the town folk, mainly for protection. Though, the Gears slaughtered them without much fuss, and now we find the Seikishidan fighting back for strategic positioning. No body wants a Gear settlement in the heart of Western Europe. In plus, if there was a Gear settlement there, it means that they'd have to be coming from somewhere close by, but still out of the way enough where Lyon was a better warfare hub...maybe across the Mediterranean or somewhere in Africa? I know the answer...history does too...do you, reader?**

The back row of Gears suddenly snapped to attention, new orders received, and they split around, the center buckling either left or right, and each respective sides following, leaping about the backs of the road and around. The soldiers in front though could not see, their vision obscured by three rows in front of them, and the heat of battle, to notice about fifty missing Gears. Though, it would prove a very bad mistake.

As the battle waged on, Gear bodies lying down dead on the tar, followed by the slap of a corpse of a human, their equal bloods pooling and mixing on the ground as boots and rancid feet trampled over and around them for footing, continuing to mutter cries of battle, echoes of clashes and merges of sword richocheting through the graveyard of Lyon as a ghastly reminder.

The Gears made haste around each respective side, where the cul-de-sac looped around to a normal street behind, flowing through the alleyways, up the sides of buildings, some pushing through walls inside of the old diner, busting over tables and walls, to merge behind, a small alley seperating the buildings of that street from the back of the buildings in the cul-de-sac.

And, they came over. They slowly started to climb over the small bazaars and homes, making their presence not known, red eyes perusing the battle in front, the white coats kicking up by feet jumping back and forth with agility to dodge attacks. The Gears put their bodies flat, all four legs being used as props, slowly progressing over the one story buildings, down to the street, where they slowly approached, like a locust storm taking time to fully blot out the sun in the sky.

"You stupid sons of bitches...I know what you got planned Justice..." Sol muttered with a grin, his boot on the skull of a Gear, legs broken and toppled over, its last few breaths cut short as his boot crushed in the bones on its face, the breath escaping through bloody orifices that it could meander. He suddenly turned, his sword transferred to his left hand, his right in a punch with his entire body weight behind it.

The slow crawling Gear had rose off the ground, ready to stab him from behind, when the sudden and lightning quick**, no pun intended**, punch hit it, its ribcage buckling in under the force of the punch, his fist covered in a slimy sinew of bone and rotten blood, the Gear falling dead flat over his fist which he removed, the body splatting down the ground, the rest of the enemy now surging to life knowing that their secrecy blown, reverting to other optional battle routing.

He quickly shot up his left hand, the blade following in tow, spurts of flames jumping off of it as it sliced through one Gear, its wound blown open by a trailing plume of flame, the fire surging through bone and organ until the body lay as a lifeless skin, smoke rippling through the holes in its outer layer. In quick succession, he took another stab, a swift kick, and a downward stab, killing three Gears with a lethal precision in each blow, completely contradictory to the unrefined style and panache that one would associate with Sol Badguy. **Brutish, yes. Unrefined, yes. Unskilled, no. He may have had his own, lazy style in his fighting as he had in life, but he was precise in the unrefined manner of it. There was a skill to being a lazy type of person, and a very arrogant, apathetic one also, that he had mastered even in his fighting.**

The splashes of red and orange, contrasting the blue piercing of night, gave a few soldiers, notably Rivarez, reason to turn, after dispatching his current Gear, seeing the foe behind him.

"Watch your back!" he screamed to the soldiers around him, then entangled in their own affairs, everything else in the world completely useless to them...only the battle in their minds...fatigue, gone, tiredness, gone, a breathless exhaustion, gone, just to kill the Gear, anticipate its move, counter attack, continue fighting...

Rivarez was quick to dodge an oncoming Gear, the now sprinting enemy being sidestepped, the blade coming down low, its ankles being chopped off, the Gear alive, but now tumbling forward, hitting into two other Gears who trailed Rivarez since he turned, the arced offensive now breaking inward, leaving no buffer of space from the buildings of the cul-de-sac to the Seikishidan's backs. They all stood up, even the ankle-less one, with wavering balance, and attacked Rivarez, who after taking another slash at another Gear running at him from the same direction of coming from the buildings of the cul-de-sac, quickly turned, facing them, seeing the small fifty-Gear sneak attack merging with the white coats.

They quickly ran at him again, him returning the run, both hands gripped tight, a yell emitted from his Spanish lungs, like the conquistadors of his past and the glory of a people long gone, stories his grandmother would have told him as a child as he sat on a rug she had knitted herself, before she gave him to the Seikishidan at 10 to be trained, her already dying of terminal illness, his parents long since dead. He never saw her again, and knew she died, but held onto hope maybe she wasn't.

He swung his sword in a forward arc once, gaining momentum, the second forward vertical arc slashing into the hands of a Gear, who brought its sword up to block horizontally, but him not hitting the blocking blade, instead his own slash angled as to take off three fingers holding up the blade. He continued running though, the forward slash only wrapping around his body as he quickly turned, making it a horizontal follow up to the next Gear who had not anticipated his continuing forward from the living Gear he had immobilized as far as it weapon had gone. It was quickly killed, the third Gear, without ankles, trying to attack, but stumbling on top of itself, quick to feel a stab through its back for penance. The now fingerless Gear tried rushing on Rivarez, who smirked with his position, a fourth class sergeant, absolute highest in the Seikishidan order, short of being commander, kicking it in the gut with a quick twist of his body, followed with a diagonal slash, separating the Gear into two halves, it falling down dead. He stood there for a moment, blade at the tip of its slash, the globulous blood dripping from the sword, his hair dropping over his face, a smirk of satisfaction at battle, the Seikishidan allowing him to be and do what he loved, indulging in it a second, before turning to another few Gears, and running at them with fervent battle cries, the sweat dripping off and into the night darkness behind him.

Hearing the screams to watch his back, Jaygus quickly stabbed his own Gear in the neck, removing the sword as quick as it entered, the Gear dropping its sword from the lack of a functional spinal chord, falling to its knees, choking out a double voice, a whine of liquidy death, before falling dead, the last breath drowning in its own blood. The oncoming Gear from behind's slash was quickly parried off of his own sword, three small slats finding way into its torso as the succession stabs found soft flesh between the ribs, it taking a step back for each stab, though not dying. After the three, Jaygus took a deep breath, his slicked back black hair in front of his eyes now, the gray out of his sight, on the roots, feeling the sweat off of his head and hair falling down to his own suit and the ground, absorbing into the dark hair and dripping in front of his gray eyes.

It trotted forward now, a sense of anger in it, the attack it had readied, a stab back, dodged. Jaygus quickly jumped to the side, nimble despite age, the Gear turning as it saw Jaygus jump, but its weapon not following, and the successive slash ending its life, falling flat and dead.

Taking a brief second from the kill, staring down at it, then at the Gears ahead, surveying his next adversary, he noticed something.

"Sir!" he screamed to Ky, whose head he could not find in the darkness, only by the blue flashes that were there and gone in the same moments, knowing he heard it despite looking at him. "Their numbers dwindle! God shows us His graces!" he said with a smile and a hoarse voice, not able to truly tell the depth of Ky from his waning eye sight, slowly itching from the sweat trickling into it, but not primary to him, since his vision had been slowly deteriorating on his left side for years, the next Gear who had found him as a target, coming up. He raised his sword again to attack, and merged with the Gear.

The words went to the ears of all humans, whether or not they knew they heard it, it was there, subliminally. It gave them hope...a renewed strength, them holding their jaws tight from the open and gasping position to attack with another hard slash, killing another Gear, yelling as they engaged another, thinking that if they killed this Gear..it'd be the last, they'd be alive, then after it was lying dead at their feet, the next. And, if they died, they really didn't, no slash, no stab, would hurt them, they felt it, then they pushed it out of their mind, attacking their attacker, then finding another Gear, only falling dead when their legs wouldn't raise them to fight and arms wouldn't hold sword, last breath defiant to the end of God's willingness to grasp soul from flesh.

The humans had dwindled, but not as much as the Gears...sixty humans left, probably about less than fifty Gears, their numbers had been shot down by Ky Kiske and his weapon, as well as Sol Badguy, both being amazing soldiers on the battlefield. Also, the help of soldiers as talented as Jaygus or Rivarez surely helped ascertain these staggering statistics, the arc that they were holding Gears off from, now breaking into small sections and pockets of humans and Gears, four or five Seikishidan soldiers, back together, killing anything that moved, knowing inherently friend and foe, the damned Gears face emerging from shadow to the wraith like slats of silver to be shoved back to darkness with their swords.

Ky was shoved back as well by an onslaught of a few Gears, circling him, each of their attacks being fended off by a spark off of his own sword as they bounced off of the triple tempered steel, his boots sliding across the small rubble, pushing him back. One more slash blocked, he fell backward because of the impact upon him, falling backward onto his face as he turned mid air, then sprinting forward, hearing a smash of a sword on the ground in the wake of where he was a moment ago. A few steps and he turned, seeing the Gears in pursuit, knowing what was to his back as well...a small shop.

The shop had a cloth valence up over the top, a table and chairs sitting under it, where people would have come to sit and have coffee on an afternoon day, looking out upon the cul-de-sac. The table was sitting against a wall, buckled inward, chairs strewn about. The glass window to the store had been completely broken, a force thrown at it from the outside buckling it inward from the shards littering more inside than out, the body barely visible in a faint corner, maggots eating through his clothes.

One of them rushed at him, swinging and its sword blocked, momentum not stopped though, Ky hearing it hit into the wall of the shop, bricks bending inward, it pushing off of it again to rebound attack at Ky. Though Ky had slashed his sword at the Gear who had slid past him, turning as he did, sending a long arrow of electricity, feeding off of his own sword to the Gears, whose first step forward was shot backward into the wall again, bursting through it into the shop, the counter ripped apart by the Gear's body as it found a solace in the darkness, smoke rising from the bones, next to the human body it could have thrown inside the building on a day prior.

Another Gear came at Ky, this one taking an approach with a second in tow, to try and overwhelm Kiske. The first stopped short, not wanting to overshoot the enemy as its predecessor had, Justice learning to adapt his forces, its swing's tip barely grazing Ky's block, who took the moment he had for it to stop the momentum of its weapon to attack again to rush in with a quick shoulder tackle, the Gear moving only one foot back to compensate. Atlas rolled off, his own shoulder taking a battering from impacting with bone, but the second Gear in tow only targeting Kiske, and seeing it so close to its kin, slashed at Ky, who bouncing off of his tackle to the outside, was no longer there, the Gear sword slicing through its brethren.

Ky's free hand massaged his shoulder, looking at the Gear who now approached with a slight malicious grin on it, or maybe he had only thought he saw it, either way, it was approaching. He made quick work of it, waiting for it to approach, leaning on his back leg, and when it was a foot from him, leaping forward, trailing his sword in an upward arc with him, his feet leaving the ground in a jump by a foot at most, the Gear's hunched position as it ran catching the upwardly-arced slash full, the electricity ripping through its chest all the way to its back, flying backwards a few feet, off of its own feet, tumbling when it hit the ground, rolling as it did, the smell of rotten flesh burning and smoke rising from the carcass better left for darkness to consume.

He ran up to another pair of soldiers, fending off the attacks of Gears on their bilnd sides, catching the Gear each had from behind, both side to side, human and Gear. Hs slashed horizontally for one, splitting its spine, vertically the other, the electricity covering what inaccuracies he had with his blade. The two fell dead, the soldiers now seen to Ky, instead of the blocking Gear bodies both stunned and thankful of Ky, then jumping over the carcasses to the next few humans.

And so it went, the few humans banding together, mopping up the last of the Gears, teaming up and dealing with the last. Though, no soldiers ran to Sol's help, none had dared to go to his aid, and in plus, he didn't need it.

Three Gears surrounded him, none posing a threat as they cautiously circled him, his back against the wall of an old public library, arms crossed, watching the Gears. They were each methodical in their steps and movements, programming assessment and calculation of how to handle him. His blade rested downward of one of his hands, sitting crossed, the tip touching the wall he was leaning on also, the brick melting slowly.

"Enough of this horse shit" he spat out, hitting a Gear who seemed impervious to the mucus. He followed the spitting with a slash of his sword, so quick that he was leaning to attacking that the Gears couldn't even calculate his speed or a counter-measure, find adequate battle programming and definition to reroute it to, only left stunned for a moment as to what to do. And a moment was their fate.

In that moment, the one falling down dead, flames rampaging over the incision, burning off the flesh like it was fuel to the pyres, he quickly made one slash to the opposite one, the blade ripping through its kidney, or where it should have been, the flames entering its abdomen and ripping out through the slats in its ribcage, the billowing flame unable to be caged, especially not by a cage of bone.

For the other he kneeled down, then jumped up with his free fist, essentially upper cutting it, his massive and sometimes inhuman strength launching the augmented creature, of weight excess of 250 pounds, off of its feet. It flew up about three feet before heading back down to the ground, where in the span of only another moment, Sol had readied a mid-level kick, knocking the body of the Gear in a flying downward-spiral until it connected with the outside wall of the library, cracking the brick and stone inward, the top floor of the two-floor building crumpling slightly street ward, a shelf of books falling into one of the walls, a glass window that had amazingly not been broken, suffering that fate, as the tip of the shelf pierced it, raining down shards, as well as a few loose books on its shelves falling streetward.

Sol only smirked at his handiwork, the shards of glass bouncing off of his shoulders, hitting the ground as it littered the small burning corpse, the flames reaching out to the books littered on the ground, engulfing them in flame also, a small camp fire in front of him, his work magnificent.

He turned slowly, a devilish smirk on his face, seeing Ky slash down the last Gear in his way with a feral scream of anger, the legless Gear looking up in defiance before the blade was brought down to kill it. Kiske sat there for a moment, hunched over himself, breathing hard, seeing the corpse ridden with the infesting blue electricity, peeling back on itself, a light hiss as it did so, taking in the morbid smell. He slowly stood, looking around at the thirty or so Seikishidan soldiers left, all of them equally looking for more Gears, then seeing Sol.

"Yeah, we won" he said, words echoing among their returning senses. The few remaining soldiers looked around, sensing more Gears, unable to see them, gloves gripped firm on swords, at which Ky had to grab them by their jittery shoulders, calming them. They slowly sheathed their swords, unable to think or move now that the adrenaline was removing itself from them, further enhanced by a fading darkness. Then, they each took to what roles came to them.

A few soldiers walked together, talking, joking a little as if the battle won seconds before, the wheezing of the dead Gear behind them like nothing out of the ordinary. A few other soldiers crowded together, sitting down on rubble, leaning against pieces of walls, huddled around a small fire, burning on the skeletal frame of a small shop, providing some warmth. Others just simply fell down, eyes scanning the horizon of bodies littered everywhere, blood lining the streets like a reflective ribbon, draining down to the sewage hatches they had walked not earlier than a day ago, dripping solitary in as it had three weeks prior, but this time, it was different. Humans stood looking at that flowing blood, not Gears. Splats of it were seen in small spots on their uniforms, a few long splats from the bursting of a Gear on cut, blood marks of other humans bloods, from holding a dying friend earlier that night, or of their own. And, a few soldier cried, death and life catching up to them and sitting on them with the weight of the world.

A small _thunk_ echoed as a piece of rubble was sat up, an old table, a Gear sword stabbed through it, lined with brown blood. One of the four soldiers gathered round slowly pried the sword from the wood, tossing it aside with a lifeless clank, sitting on a big rock boulder near the table. He reached into his boot, and brought out an old deck of cards, worn at the edges and yellowed by the touch of hands over the years, the other three crowding around, him dealing, echoing the words "Texas Hold 'Em". Ky, upon seeing it, remembered the small card in his own boot, the three of hearts.

The sun rose over the buildings slowly, the darkness of night now fading as the moon's qualm with the encircling clouds being swept under the rug of a lifting purple, the sky shooting the purple and orange rays like chariots racing through the heavens in anticipation of the real show to happen, the golden sun spilling through the wrecked buildings and bodies of human and Gear alike, shining uncaringly, just rising over them, without either a hint of favor in either side, just seeing Ky staring back up at it, victorious, and congratulating it, as it would have congratulated Justice, had he won, simply and invariably giving a shake of hands for posterity, no real feeling or real indulging sense of victory or not.

But, they were victorious...Lyon was theirs.

Zeronova's Notes:  
More of the sun symbolism and characteristics (I love using the moon/sky/sun as good symbols and modifiers as the story, if you didn't notice). Also, we have the finale of the Lyon battle, which turned out pretty damned well, and actually took me from middle of the night until dawn to write, ironically. Yet, it worked out perfectly, I think...and should be a good read to you to. Now, the original DG ended after Lyon was won, or slightly after, which means this is the official end of the scripted DG (not story wise, but I never posted a chapter after it)...going into uncharted territory, wow. It feels wonderful...and I feel great about the upcoming, ain't stopping here, we have so much more, readers...we have a story to wrap up, and in no less than another 100k words!  
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	33. Arc 2: Hotels suck

Morning sun found its way through cracks of buildings, the destroyed and littered chunks of cement accentuating the bodies lying face down on the street, some face up. Actually, bodies were there. Some were lying across heaps of rubble, in pieces, strewn across an entire street, held together by innards, others hanging off of the sides of buildings or pinned to the ground by a blade stabbing two inches deep to the tar.

The blood was slowly stagnating, turning brown from hours wake of losing its capillaries and arteries it flowed through, its cyclic route keeping it fresh, but the absence of life to circulate it, the absence of a spirit to push it, turning it brown, dull. **Without the presence of God, to push and further humanity, how far would have the war waged?**

The sun took on a façade of slowly rising, as apathetic as always, but its own agenda slowly faded into view as the minutes passed, its higher arc letting the golden stream through buildings in such an articulation of light that it crept into a window sill, glass shattered outward from a body tossed through, blood splats on the floor, running over and amok, to a frame of a bed, half of it cut by a misplaced slash from a Gear, the blade still lodged in the iron pole.

The bed housed Ky Kiske, sleeping from the hours past battle, sun rising only a few hours after events, the soldiers gaining what rest they could. They found the abandoned hotel, and whatever rooms they could, going straight to them. The sun clawed at Kiske, his own strength battered and removed from battle, but his insides telling him to wake despite, continuing on despite a forgoing pain and hurt in his body, replaced with a larger amount of faith to displace pain. He slowly awoke, sitting up in the bed, removed of sheets and blankets, a mattress thrown on top of the frame, and Kiske, in full armor and clothes, lying on it.

He checked over himself, unaware of place for a moment at the grogginess of morning, then collected himself. _Boots strapped…belt on, shirt tucked underneath, trench on, shoulder garb above, cnter piece on top of all…_ He adjusted the button on top of his suit, fastening it with shaky hands, littered with bruises and peeled back skin from a few punches he had laid against Gear flesh and sinew. Then, he removed a sentiment he had been holding in his lap, and hands previously, sliding it off to the edge.

His hazardous feet stepped on the creaking wood, his sword used as a cane, pushing himself up. Even in sleep, he held to his prized sword, never letting it out of his grip, sight, or touch for too long. It was something given to him by Kliff…and if it was lost, somehow thrown from his grasp into the fires of Hell, or in the hands of Gears, he would have felt like the soul of Kliff, the soul of the battle and the Crusades, God's strength in him, vanished.

He took a few steps out of the room, down the hallway, seeing doors buckled in, ripped from hinges and streaks of blood through the hall, splintered wood floors and large gashes through the walls, where a Gear temptingly stood over a human, crawling backwards, trailing its talons along the sides of the walls as it progressed on the terrified human three weeks earlier, and killed it, the blood pool sitting into the wood in the far corner, body removed to a large pile in the street.

Ky…alive and well, yet again, dodging death in the face to live another battle. You're one hell of a miracle kid, Ky…living, it seems ot be your knack. Unlike Christ, your sins are more of a motivation, not to be martyred, you continue to survive…maybe Kliff was right in his decision, making you the leader. Here you are, walking down the hall of this hotel…albeit many died, and many more will…but victory, declaration and control of these strategic points, it's what really matters as far as the war goes, and you won…you're alive. Soldiers live and die, but their leaders…they're eternal, and need to be, to lead the thousands more to more victories and deaths. No, don't think like that…each of the dead were men, people, they had families, lives, feelings…and they're lying in the street, like Darton…quit beating yourself up about him, he's dead, he chose it. Not to mention that he was one of thousands…he will soon be forgotten by the sands of time and be another buried statistic, as will this…the death, it's bad, I can't deny it, but somehow…to some extent, I feebly try and make myself believe there is point and purpose to it, but each battle, each amounting dead, makes me less sensitive, less caring of them…

But, I will not be. God is compasisonate to all, He makes all men, and no one is just another mold, another dead soldier…yet, if they are all people, suddenly, there's more at stake, and you, the leader, cannot lead…God, what is the correct answer? Kliff, he knew…he knew it perfectly, and lead perfect missions, and was a leader worthy of remembrance, me in his foot steps… Soldiers loved him, soldiers could just talk to him, he would always know the right thing to say, a compassionate look and a harty slap on the shoulder was all it took, and a soldier was instantly ready to die for a cause, for God, for Kliff…yet, how can I do this, how can these soldiers think it of me?

I think maybe I am not destined to be Kliff…and that is why he chose me. I am not Kliff, I know that, he does too…so filling his shoes might not be my job, despite him being the best Seikishidan Commander in history…I may not be, but I am not destined to be, either…he knew it, he knew I wouldn't be him, and with that, I should lead how I know, how my heart tells me…how God tells me, and with that, I know Kliff is also in agreement. Kliff….

The steps came to him, his feet awkwardly traversing down, each echoing in faint lullaby, the scurrying of soldiers alive at his sound below. He came down the flight from the upstairs of the small, locally owned and operated hotel, the lobby destroyed, left wall ripped apart from Gear, the antique wood frame it was built on littering the floor with shards of the old orange. A few soldiers, including Rivarez, instantly stood, coming over to Ky, saluting.

"Sir, we are victorious in the recpature of Lyon." He said with a wry smile, eyes slightly above Ky's head in authority. "Orders?" he asbently asked as an afterthought after Ky's awkward deliberation and silence.

"Wait."

"Excuse me?" he stammered.

"U.N. is coming in…remember, Gestahl? They'll handle most of the clean up…I give no formal orders, I only give you an option." Ky said. Rivarez seemed unable to understand the commander not officially sanctioning an order, not telling him an exact thing to do. "Collect the dead Seikishidan, collect your friends, pay respect to them…do what you wish, until the U.N. convoys get here…I give you freedom…" Ky said with an exhausted puff, walking forward over the rubble.

"A Seikishidan commander giving freedom? Ha, that's one for the record books." A voice echoed, freezing Ky in place. He didn't need to look to his left, outside of the broken wall, where Sol was leaning against it, smoking, he could smell the tobacco.

"Shut up" Ky said in a low tone of defiance, taking another step forward before stopping again.

"Or what, Commander?" he mockingly asked, a flint lighter mashing the wheel, sparks created to relight the cigarette leaning on burning and stagnant.

"You do not talk like that to Commander Kiske" Rivarez jumped in, silenced by a stern look from Ky.

"The Seikishidan is grateful for your help to this operation, now make yourself scarce, Sol, before the U.N. gets her in full force, because I don't want to deal with you, and I don't want to have to get inbetween you and a few A.A.'s". Sol lightly snickered, stepping forward, his boot crushing bits of fragmented wood.

"You can't do shit to or against me, Kiske, don't try" he said, blowing out a plume of smoke near Ky's face as he walked by. Just keeping his calm, Ky took a deep breath, to calm himself, the smoke entering his lungs, like a sinful plague of his own dissent, but he didn't do the smoking, then breathing out, calming himself as Sol walked from the hotel, the few soldiers outside shooting him glances of vile, but him only smirking back, going on his way, sword over his shoulder, a bit of steam tipping off of it.

"Go" Ky said with a muted mutter, his words not even heard to him, but the soldiers saluting, walking outside the door in rank fashion, Ky last, the soldiers barking at their underlings to clean the streets of Seikishidan bodies, pay your tolls, say your prayers, and do it double quick. The twenty or so left got off of the rubble, from sleeping and resting positions, yawning and saluting, muttering to each other jokes and pennance, as well as the mourning few wiping eyes of tears, and standing to shaky legs to find those whom they mourned.

One soldier pushed off of a wall he was leaning on, walking over slowly, brushing his hair on top of his face back, to its slick backed position.

"Morning, sir." Jaygus chimed in his normal tone. Ky only gave him a nod, from his mild discomfort and lack of sleep, one which Jaygus knew full well of. "I have not seen you in such a condition since Paris" he said with a true compassion behind his perking, yet monotone voice.

"…It's the death. It gets to me." Ky said with sullen words.

"As it does to us all, Ky." He added the end word in hesitation, as if the other soldiers around might give him an awkward and demeaning glance for it, him being a third class sergeant, not a fourth, not to mention calling a C.O. by his name was blasphemy, yet luckily, he said it with such a low tone in his voice, only Ky could hear it, and to him, it mattered not.

"Let's do what we need to do" Ky said, his arm grabbing Jaygus by the shoulder for a moment, both looking at each other with complacent understanding, then both walking opposite ways down the streets, finding white coated bodies before the U.N. stopped in.

Standing up slowly, the ache in his knees amplified, Ky looked over the small burial ground. Littered with small wooden crosses, salvaged from whatever building had suffered the most, wood being precious and in much quantity in Lyon, using it for a service as best they could. There was a small local park near the hotel, a small little dirtway, overgrown with weeds and left to the rot of time, small shrubberies of green surviving off of what mother nature would give it, not the humans.

The plot had been unearthed by a few digging tools found in abandoned shops and homes, the bodies of whatever Seikishidan soldiers found dumped inside the massive grave. They couldn't dig one hole for each person, but rather toiled at one large hole, digging it eight feet deep, and as wide as the plot would allow, then they stacked the bodies inside. Those responsible for lining them up on the ground went through fluxuations of emotions, a few of the first shift ending up sick, throwing up, and crying all at the same time, replaced by a more grizzled soldier who took the bodies and threw them in like they were cargo. After it was finished, and what was near collected (as they weren't going to traverse out to their entrance points for bodies, too far), they covered over the plot with bodies, looking skyward in ambition, then covered in the earth, never to see blue again.

After buried, they set up rows of crosses to simulate that each person got their own grave, but each only reminded them of how many it signified. One cross to three, four, maybe five bodies underneath…and each cross stapled together with a small stake or item they found to drive the two pieces together at apex, stabbing it down in.

Ky's standing had him replacing the small gold cross he had got at Paris inside of his shirt, kissing it with a religious significance before putting it back in, his own hands dirty with mud and grime, but apathetic to it. A few of the twenty sat at graves, cradling memories and ideas, slowly crying and sniffling, the others standing around and simply watching them, leaning against building and rubble, the small park inbetween two moderately sized building, probably scheduled for construction if not for the emptiness of Lyon for years, then once it became inhabited again, slaughtered.

Ky took a look over every cross, associating each of the faces he laid into the earth under him with one, too many faces flooding to every cross, too many thoughts of how many family members they left, what their life meant, what they could have been or done, but quickly locking it away in his mind. _No leader is emotional, they can't afford to be, they need to think clearly and without error…_

He took a few steps forward, his subordinants following, a few nudging the mourning into servitude, who sniffled, wiping their eyes, and trying to hide their feelings and shattered mentallity of war. They'd soon rebuild that mentallity, and lose it again, but sooner or later, they'd have rebuilt it to the point where the wall became reinforced, the death and pain bouncing off, them apathetic to all of it, only being a soldier.

As Ky led the soldiers, few stopped into broken stores, grabbing whatever items they could, for personal value or gain in trade, but Ky didn't look down on it, as he himself had taken from the dead…the cross dangling under his clothes across his chest reminding him. After a brisk walk and soldiers now looking over plunders and the likes, those grizzled soldiers able to indulge in the profits of war, the emotional few, the broken, still rebuilding themselves.

"Well done, Mr. Kiske" a somber voice echoed to Ky. He hadn't even see who it was to know.

"Finally got in, eh?" He said, stopping in his pace, as his soldiers walked past him, fanning out and finding a piece of rubble to sit on, wall to stand against, flat place to sit, whatever they wanted, back in front of the destroyed hotel.

"Yes, we were hard pressed to find you, though maybe the battle had ended in stale mate due to your absence."

"I prefer to take care of my own bodies than let the U.N." Ky said with a tinge of poison in his words, Gestahl only acting like he had no clue as to its existence, his normal attitude of Ky's U.N. hatred completely wasted.

"Speaking of, there is two convoys heading in…U.N. diplomats, A.A.'s, and civies."

"Civilians?" Ky choked out, a bit stunned at the words. A few soldiers perked at the word, also peculiarly interested.

"The U.N. wants to civilize this city as quick as possible, trying to prevent another attack like before. If there's a base here, at least even a shallow one, it'll be better than that of a ghost."

"But…it's too soon, we have dead in the streets, blood still wet." Ky said, his hand arcing around behind him, the soldiers only looking at Gestahl as he peered back at the surroudnings.

"I am quite aware, _monsieur_, but I only follow orders. You should too." He said with a smile, turning as a small pack of A.A.'s, almost total to number of surviving Seikishidan, walked around the back of a building, absently chatting and lazily following where Gestahl had led them. The death and bodies were normal to them, not fazing them, only shrugging, seeing one and knowing that they were there for reason. Upon coming up to Gestahl, he gave them a nod, each of them affirming it, and spreading out to the soldiers, readying syringes and gauze, their sweet voices asking what their problems were.

A low rumbling echoed through the skeletons of a city, falling upon the ears of all present. It slowly died down, the rumble still there, but more like a growl than its previous roar, hearing the _pitter-patter_ of footsteps coming.

"They're here" Ky said slowly, breathing in heavily, then turning, his hand sliding to the Fuuraiken, in sheath, just holding there for the authoritary looking position and it being one of his staples to the unknown of him, _Come on, U.N…I'm waiting._

"And exactly where are we going?" Quint asked, hands in his pockets. He was wearing a standard type of attire as to most Troy citizens, clothes from the old world. Well, it was what the ground level people wore, frowned upon by those in suits looking over towering balconies and walkways. A normal pair of jeans and a t-shirt too big for him, advertising some company on the front that had perished as the war waged on. They had both been faded by time, broke in by those who wore it before, and ripped in places by previous occupants of them.

"I told you last night, or were you too tired to remember?" she said, looking over her shoulder from her leading positoin, smiling as she did. She kept walking forard though, her head turning back to looking at where she was going, her voice not too high, but somehow, piercing the roar of the crowd. "We gotta register you before someone notices they never seen your face before, and we get mercs with a bounty on your head."

"Sounds delightful…" he said sarcastically, shrugging off a rude man who rushed through the streets, arms full of trinkets, a man following in pursuit, waving a metal pole in the air, cursing with every word he know, switching between French, English, and Italian.

"Oh yeah, keep your hands in your pockets" she said smiilng, a bit of humor on her words because of the vagabond who had stolen from the other man passing by.

"And which hands protect yours?" he asked with a slight smirk of mischeviousness.

"Don't worry about me, we gotta take care of you."

Darton followed her trail, weaving in and out of the many faces and bodies of the crowd, each running to and fro, trying to get groceries, or do errands, or catch their child lost up in the sea of people. All ages, from those who were five to sixty five, going about their duties of life on the streets, merchants piled up in small shops they had set up on the sides of the streets with materials lying around, a cloth overhead to block the sun and sheets for a bench to showcase their findings to those who might want to buy.

They went through the large crowd, pusling with life, a dull roar of unidentifiable speech barraging them, the words unclear, but the actual amount of people actually doing it more than palpable to the deathly silence that stuck with Darton from the H.Q. Finally, after a few streets of pakced people, the flow started to trickel and bottlenose, not many people lingering through the streets, on ways to the mass congregation of buyers and sellers in the streets or holding posessions just bought, heading home. There were two or three districts of major selling on the ground floor, located in the most populated areas. They hadn't changed with the flow of time, since people might have started living there and they died, or the mass amount of people might have left, the business having moved, but people always knew, that block was for the merchants, and so it stayed, even in deserted back alleys and run down sections of Troy, it would become livid with people during day, a haunted gang land at night.

The street they were both on now was rather empty, a few beggars sitting on the sides, wrapped in old blankets and littered with their own posessions around them, shaky eyes looking at those who walked by as to steal it, grabbing them closer.

"We close?" Darton whispered from behind to Bianca, close to her ear, eyes looking to the deserted street, with a person every now and then, discomforting him.

"I'm more scared in the crowds, where you could get knifed and pick pocketed, and no one would even realize. Here, you know what's coming." She said, smirking. "We're almost there" she said, after reading Darton's serious glance. Wakling inn solitude, their footsteps echoing in the rather dilapidated buildings, lined with struts to keep them alive, and wires latched to the ground running up hundreds of feet, the higher city built on the ruins of the old, they continued. Finally, Bianca came to a building, that seemed clean compared to the rusted and dirt covered rest.

She walked to it, turned around, and looked back at Darton, who followed in procession moments later. The building had a buffed steel kind of look, the dirt meticulously scraped off, and made to look presentable, two disgusting wrecks of other buildings next to it, glorifying it even further. Above the massive doorway, it read Neo-Troy Information Agency in bold letters, kept in a similar font, but a few different pieces of metal formed to make the writing, welded in places and the obvious difference being seen, from iron to steel to copper.

She opened the large door, which creaked as it did on its hinges, walking in, Darton trailing behind, holding the door slightly with his arm as she entered. Upon entering, he saw two benches on either side of the wide entrance, people sitting on each of the benches for whatever reasons, holding small bags with a bit of blood soaking the bottom or papers, ranging from jittery and nervous to joyous and blissful. The benches stretched for about fifty feet, a few columns inbetween them, holding up the high ceiling of the building. Bianca walked forward, Darton tailing, to a small booth in the center, a lady sitting behind the desk with a small sheet of synthetic papers in hand, made from metal dust and probably imported from their nieghbors in the sky. She looked up, set it down, and leaned forward to Bianca, her eyebrows arching as if she was expecting to hear something.

"I gotta register this guy as a citizen." She said rather run of the imll, the lady nodding.

"First door to the left" she said, her head nodding behind her, the benches ending where her desk started, then a long hallway behind her, doors lining all of the sides, people entering and leaving some with an echoing click and slam of the doors behind them. Bianca nodded, walking forward, knowing Darton was following, and went to the door, entering to another hallway, though this one narrow and confining, for a few dozn feet where it broke into a nice sized room, with another recpetionist.

Bianca repeated her query to the lady, who handed her a small file form and had her sit on a bench, Darton next to her.

"What is this place?" he whispered hesitantly, looking at the receptionist, as not to alarm her from her boring state behind her desk, filing her nails.

"Neo-Troy Information Agency. Government runs everything through down here. _Everything_."

Hello, reader. Missed me? I haven't spoken in a few chapters, and as per my approach, I need to give you a bit of background now, to further your understanding of these events. So…Neo-Troy Information Agency, N.T.I.A. Basically, as Bianca said so skillfully, it's how everything is run through the ground floor of Troy.

The government takes a preceeding role over the high class citizens in the sky scrapers above, making them pay taxes, abide by laws, have certain dutiful constraints about their life style, recorded about where they go, what they do, everything. It's a price to pay for being up there, but all of them willingly follow the nearly maniacal state of unbridled secrecy up there, everything laid out for the government to see and account for. But, it also makes those people up there even more snobby, knowing they live under such constraints, and simply being able to abide by them making them superior, somehow better. Government on the top side isn't ruled by a man, but an elected group that all decide on what is best for Neo-Troy, except there really isn't anything but everyday life to contend with. The government keeps tabs on everyone, armed guards and identificatoin required, being recorded as to where you go and where you need to be, but it is also done in an attempt to distinguish itself from the lower side.

The undercity of Troy, the one Bianca lives in, is rather ungoverned. No real force dictates their lives, it's a dog-eat-dog world. When someone is killed, they are looted, body disposed of, property taken, and life moves on, big deal. People get by anyway they can on the underside. The upper city tries to avoid this, and does so by distinguishing their very life so much as to avoid it. Murder is a high felon, as is stealing and adultery up there, with heavy consequences and regulations against it. They try and structure and govern their lives so much, to differentiate between the people living below them, that they are actually happy living in such a crazy society, as to the point of no thought or production coming from them, just a day to day life of simplicity and refinement. Personally, I would hate that. Living a life without your own ability to do what you want (to an extent), and supreme ruling and overbearing by unseen faces dictating to you…no, count me out. Up there, it's insane, heavily reflecting the Zepp society they draw on, being close to the sky, it is almost like they're a second Zepp. They cannot float amongst the heavens like Zepp, but they can touch them with imitating fingers of society.

The undercity is rather overgrown with lawlessness. And, before I continue, I also must throw in a bit about mercenaries.

There is no police force in the world (the Seikishidan is the closest, but they're a force against Gears, not a police force). So, all major cities and places of life, the ruling government (despite being under U.N. control, each city has its own government to govern itself, since the U.N. is just a figurehead) hires mercenaries. Word spreads about people who have killed somebody or did shit that pissed someone off, so they hire bounties, post it at the local information agency, mercs pick up the contract, kill the person, pick up the prize. Sometimes, it's just that you don't like somebody and you have money to back it up, so they got offed. It's not the best system, but it kind of stimulates the economy, builds character and gangs, and also keeps everything in check, sort of. It ain't perfect, but it works. One of the most prominent merc systems, and the one that churns out the best of the best usually is Dresden-4, conned the Dresmercs. You want one of the best, hire a Dresmerc, if they're wandering around your city.

Some of the government sanctioned bounties come in the form of those which haven't been already posted. Serial killers, people who cause desutruction, you know, the average lawlessness, the government posts their own bounties, but the private bounties pay the most anyways. Also, if there's an unaccounted person (and this only applies to Troy), they hunt that person down. If there's something upper and lower city Troy inhabitants agree on, it's their distinction from the outside world. When new people come in, they fear them, thinking they might spread disease or thoughts or something evil from the outside world. So, they either register and become part of the masses, or they get killed. And a Seikishidan in Troy…that's a death sentence. They pride themselves in staying outside of the Gears and humans, and if one got in, they'd unite to kill, or they'd destroy themselves. Their own distance from the world also hinders them, as it does to Zepp, since they like to make sure they're nothing like the rest, they do not have the information about the recent events, some of the information the U.N. has, but Zepp is in the exact same boat on this one (no pun intended) with their isolation.

They're similar socities, but Zepp has no mercenaries to it though. Zepp has another distinction to it…which will be revealed later on. And, this brings another chapter to a close, my friends. Though, what stops you from flipping the page to the next chapter? Nothing, I just hope you would, dear reader. And, before I forget, I might brave this statement and say we are at about half or a little past the middle of the story. Good or bad, you decide, but I am not nearly done telling it, so flip the page, and hundreds more, dear reader. This is a story written for you, whoever you are; book in hand, eyes skimming this…

Ha, there I go again, talking to you, the reader about this, the book of which you read. Let me make this simple to you: if you read this, you are privileged, that this has not been thrown into the fires, and it has been published. Also, you wish to know events, meaning you didn't live through them, or that you're just a historian who wants another view of it. Hell, you might have been a soldier in every battle, and reading it just because it is there to read…but, whether or not you're any of it, you're a human reading a story a human wrote, not Gear. So, who knows, dear reader. Not I. Maybe He does. But, even that is sketchy.

Zeronova's Notes:

So goes chapter 33…ending with a nice author talk. Also, we get into the slow-period once again in DG, after the siege of Lyon, we come to another time of relative peace and drama, until the next big battle. For those of you who can see where I am going with the story (and also have caught every symbol, tip of the hat, motif, and allusion), you'll know exactly what will happen. Oh yeah…this is basically where DG ended, right after Lyon battle was won, so now I venture into uncharted territory. Wee.


	34. Arc 2: No time like peace time

"Currently, the U.N. cannot give truthful representation here to record these briefings—" Gestahl started.

"Tribunals." Ky said with a smug grin, relating back to last time.

"…Recordings" Gestahl continued, with a rememberance of last, a dull smirk of his own, leaning back in his own small chair. "So, I am under district mandate to get your recordings, as well as the other soldiers, and relay to you the new information concerning the wartime efforts and plans for Lyon."

They both were sitting in chairs like each other, small white ones, the dry blood wiped off and bodies removed, a table set up between them, from a small shop that had once stood. Pieces of the wall that was the front of the store littered the ground, a table propped from the wreckage between them, soldiers hustling by, as well as a few A.A.'s, hands full of items, and the common U.N. worker, recording and writing things down on a pad cradled in their arms.

The shop looked to be a small hub of social activity, before the invasion, a coffee house or something, a wrecked aluminum tube set up, for heating and condensing water vapor, then boiling the coffee beans, all of it, slashed through and lying in disrepair behind the counter. Looked like a somewhat expensive, and unique, as well as antiquated piece of coffee brewing Black Tech.

"I could use a cup of that" Kiske said, nodding to the machine, Gestahl looking back, then affirming the nod.

"Good coffee is hard to come by nowadays. Sometimes, you have to use Old World technology to get the job done."

"Ironic, hearing that from a U.N. operative." Ky said with mild disdain, a sense of humor in his words also though.

"If anything has been seen thus far" Gestahl said, leaning forward slightly, his impeccable U.N. suit ruffling as he did, one arm put on the table for leverage, leaning to whisper "it is that I am far from an average U.N. operative."

"Well, I sensed that about you, since you knew Kliff…" Ky commented, absent mindedly, feeling a bit more at ease, than takling to a normal U.N. bastard.

"He and I go way back…to 2099, we met in Oslo as kids. Been acquaintances since then."

"The final offensive? Kliff didn't talk about his past much though."

"Then it seems that we share that trait as well, but he was always the more reserved of the two of us." Gestahl muttered, adjusting his sitting position in the old chair, folding a leg over another, watching a soldier outside bustle by, hands full of swords belonging to dead soldiers, a light _click-clank_ echoing as he did. The sun was high morning, approaching noon, slightly shading into the destroyed café where the two higher-ups sat. As he did shift his position, Ky noticed a glint on Gestahl's right side, just under the end of the top piece of the suit, now noticing it for the fifth or sixth time…he couldn't remember.

"What is that?" he said coldly and affirmatively. Gestahl looked at where Ky was nodding, then chuckled, reaching underneath, a click of a lock, then pulling it out and setting it on the table.

"A little hobby of mine." He said, the heavy thud on the table as it hit, then slid across to Ky.

"…Not much like a U.N. operative at all." Ky said, smirking back up, taking the item in his hands. He looked it over, down the slide, over the barrel, rubbing it with his fingers in mild disbelief, though keeping a strict moral about his behavior to be professional, though his childish side took priority at seeing and holding something so odd and valued…a gun.

"Family heirloom, passed down. I make the bullets myself, just collect scrap, smelt it, use it. Can't be useful in battle, but in a situation when you never know if you have a second to live or die…it works." Gestahl said, seeing Ky grab the slide, a slight glint of the sun off of its flat black, then it racking forward with a thunderous slam, the bullet pushed into barrel from the clip. Ky let it rest in his hands, holding it with admiration before handing it back, Gestahl slipping it back under his shirt from whence it came. "Luger, 1938." He said once more before acting like it never existed.

"You know they'd confiscate it and you'd never see it again…" Ky trailed off, eluding to the U.N. administration.

"The U.N. has their own agendas…they know about it, they know about a lot, and let it slide. They have methods and ways, Mr. Kiske. There are also a few more of these relics around, and other ones which are more impressive, if one searches. U.N. has rumors ofsome mercenaries and bounty hunters who use them."

"They have time to go view the world and run around and do what they want sometimes. I have to be with my troops, lead a war to victory, I don't have time to find Old World technology and see the depths of the world, I have too much else to get done." Ky said, looking out at the city in front of him as it was tended to be sprinting medics and soldiers, throwing rubble into alleys and grabbing the few bits of salvage they could, yelling off to Bob at what they found with a bit of glee. Gestahl chuckled slightly at Ky's words, brushing a bit of dust and debris off the table top with an idle hand.

"I don't know if I will live to see the day this war ends…when you lead victory to humanity and all is well, but I can tell you something, Mr. Kiske. Once the world is able to continue without the Gears, the Old World will resurface in frightening pace. I don't know how I can tell, maybe it's just being in the U.N…but you will see it, you will be first to witness how the changes and world comes full circle. And, be on guard, for that I am an agent of the U.N., and even I do not trust it. They'll spy on you, you're Ky Kiske, and they will also bring straight to and around you the hidden treasures they have. Old World technology…isn't old. Not to Zepp, not the U.N., just the major world, which will become new once again, then common place, as soon as this war ends." He said slowly and methodically, as if he was speaking to a child about the reason the sun rises and sets, something that he thought was easy, simple, and relatively clear, that took no more thought than comprehension to grasp.

"We'll see" Ky said, leaning back now, looking out to the streets of Lyon being tended to. "What else?" he said, azure eyes snapping back to the old and war hardened frame of Gestahl.

"Ah yes, I almost forgot." He said nonchalantly, referring back. "Well, I have some bad news. It has to do with Jakarta Dome…"

"Out in the Asian provinces?"

"Yes, the Philipines, or what's left of them. Seems that not but a week before the Parisian raid, which you lived through, the Gears had formulated an attack on Jakarta, slaughtering all there. In fact, it is almost frighteningly similar in the fashion that the attack was carried out and how it came around."

"And the U.N. has access to information that no one else has, once again" Ky said, vexed by the normal turn of events, that the impossible information to get, always came by way of the U.N.

**So, Jakarta Dome…here goes. Jakarta Dome is the Asian theatre of Seikishidan offensive, as the Parisian H.Q. was the central Seikisihidan H.Q. and the Western European theatre of operations. There is a base that controls most of A-Country's ballistics, as well as what is left of Southern America, though those bases have long become ghost stories, if they still remain a mystery. Communcation kinda sucks.**

**Jakarta Dome was based out of mainland China or somewhere around there, using their naval superiority, namely boats made of whatever they could find, and sweeping the coasts and islands of Gears. They were in direct contact with the U.N., since only the U.N. can reach that distance with communication, not the Seikishidan, so they were somehow let outside of the Seikishidan sphere of control that Ky held. My information is kind of shady since not even I know much about it.**

**Also, the actual base was very similar in structure to the Parisian Base…except it was a dome. It was built from Floor1 to Floor 6, but each floor a circular one, smaller than the last, the center held up by a support reaching to the protective dome covering. Though, it had never been finished, thrown into battle too quick to finish it. The Gears attacked by traversing the dome, and swarming in by the sky light of the dome, trapping those on the bottom floors in, massacaring them. Very similar to the Parisian attack, though also different.**

**Justice's offenses were used to cause a disturbance in the workings of the human world, especially after he was displaced from his base in the Tibetan offensive, he decided to repay the favor. And, the attacks were successes, by his standards. Wiping out two bases, though not killing the prime target, and putting a lot of fear in the ranks…it was a small stepping stone, but an important one.**

**Jakarta had about six thousand, same with the Parisian, and was where the Mongolian, and later, Tibetan offensive was staged from, the combined forces of the Parisian and Jakartan meeting to attack Tibet, then more than half of the Jakarta soldiers tailing it to Paris, since most soldiers preferred being in base with Undersn (later Kiske), the Commander. Though, Jakarta had its own commander, not officially sanctioned, but they were so far out of the way, no real chain of command could be upheld, and most of its operations, attacks, and decisions, where either U.N. or internal affairs. Just a bit of information.**

"So, Jakarta is dust…seems that Justice is pulling out all the stops." Ky muttered, hearing the padded foot steps of a hurrying nurse to soldiers lying in their own blood other places, wounded from battle earlier. _I could really use a cup of that coffee…_

"Yes…" Gestahl said, reflecting for a moment, before continuing "But, we need to focus now on rebuilding Lyon."

"It just seems kind of weird that Jakarta is gone. I visited there about six or seven months ago...maybe a bit longer, but it was a few months before I was appointed Commander. We launched our offensive against Purgatory from there, we also had the help of some local troops, the Red Force Eight they called themselves." He said, trailing off, remembering names, faces, the mission.

"That was a very rough mission, Kiske. I heard about it from my superior and the document files. But...Purgatory?"

"A nickname we gave to the mountain that Justice was on. The place was as close to Hell as we could find on Earth."

"Fitting...but Lyon is what we need to focus on now." He stopped for a moment, remembering them. "As I said earlier, U.N. has a few plans."

"What?" Ky said, his interest piqued.

"Basically, the U.N. wants this place swept out, and civilians are moving in to colonize it again. There's going to be a continued presence of Seikishidan here until the Parisian base is salvaged and fixed, or a new one built, so make yourself comfortable. The Seikishidan will also aid in the rebuilding, though a counter offensive here would not be out of the question, hence our stay here. Basically, we're setting up camp, and sects of people from Dresden, Berlin, Bordeaux, and the rest, are coming, by way of MTs that the U.N. _requested_ help relocate them here."

"They're pushing colonization here so quickly?" Ky said with a bit of disdain, his fingers drumming the table top in anger.

"Well, they're trying to grow strong roots in a weed's time. Do not worry, they put me in charge, for the most part, and with your command of soldiers here, Lyon will be a strong hold of western Europe once more. Not to mention that you were victorious yesterday, do not forget that."

"Eight hours ago wasn't yesterday." Ky responded with a jaded and low voice.

"You know what I mean. Though, Lyon is to become the next Warsaw, and the U.N. intends it. Just flow with it, and there will be little problems. Also, more soldiers are going to be coming in from Bordeaux and Greenwich, so expect some fresh meat. Lyon will prosper, or the U.N. will have my head." **Warsaw has never been destroyed. It's survived...twleve or thirteen assaults, I forget, and has never been taken down. They've suffered massive casualties many times, but they're one of the few to never adda number to their name.**

"If it doesn't, the Gears will too, and they'll be a lot more nice to it than the U.N.would." Ky's sarcasm was met to a dry chuckle, at which point Gestahl stood, Ky in suit.

"Well, I'll get to my men, you to yours." Gestahl said with a more amicable atmosphere than previously.

"We're to make Lyon the next Warsaw" Ky quoted with a wry smile, then turned, walking over the bricks lying in disarray around what was the front wall of the café, into the sun and into the bustling soldiers, A.A.'s, and U.N. officers.

* * *

"Eventful" Quint muttered, leaning back in his small chair, one hand over the back rest in a leisure fashion, looking over at Bianca who emulated his position with mild amusement. Darton looked over with a small smirk to the barkeep, Zimmerman, who had one cautious eye still on him, despite no Seikishidan clothes on the labelled "'Kishi'", wiping a glass with a dirty cloth in a methodical round-and-round procession, as if he were going to wipe the very years that had stained the cup. 

"Well, I told you, that's how it is. Paper work, they get a blood test on you, label you as a citizen, and you're done."

"Was the questioning session necessary?" Darton said, remembering the rude psychological probing they gave him with enough questions to make him lose count, said count lost around 137.

"Of course. Don't want spies." She said while picking up a cup off of the table seperating them, sipping it slowly. Setting it down with a thud, she looked as if she were going to ask another question, but stopped short.

"You wanna know what they asked," Darton said, without her knowing. She coughed a little, attesting it to the hot coffee, then nodded.

"I was practically born and raised here, I don't know those kind of sessions."

"And once again, we see the ever interrogative Bianca."

"Shut up and answer, or I'm leaving you to settle the bill." She said with a smirk, sipping the coffee again, a bit of steam clouding above the rim of the decades old mug, parting on her nose as the brim touched her lips.

"I can put it in your tab" he responded, smiling. "Anyway, they basically asked me my past, my name, why I was here, my ambitions, affiliation with Zepp, the U.N. or Seikishidan."

"And?" she asked, emphasized on the Seikishidan.

"I told them the truth. I was K.I.A., it took them a minute to draw out the papers to confirm I was, and when I was, they were more open about letting me be a citizen, the way I prefer it anyway."

"Well, the Doubting Thomas tells the truth." She said with a smug satisfaction.

"Let's get out of here, I don't like sitting here." He said, setting down an empty mug on the linoleum table, an imprinted cross-thatch of white and red to impersonate a cloth table cover, but failing, miserably, due to pieces chipped off, scratches, and general abuse over time.

"Because of him?" she said, nodding back with her head, but not looking at the old, fat, and grumpy shop keeper, Zimmerman.

"Kind of, and I hate being still, sitting here. I want to go explore Troy as a citizen." He said with a twinge of alluring seduction. So, she finished her cup, paid her respects (and part of her large tab) with Zimmerman, then followed Quint out into the bustling streets. A few minutes later, and not shy on a few jabs and punches from the crowd, they were on the now less populated venues from the central hub of commerce in that section of the city.

"Hey, I got an idea" Bianca said, jumping and turning at the same time to face Darton, energetically enthused. His eyebrows asked the question, her responding quickly. "It's a secret, but follow me. Trust me, you'll love it."

"Most of your secrets end up being kind of bad."

"How could you say that!" she moaned, placing her hands over her chest, and feigning heart ache and hurt, then resuming her smirking stature. "How about this: I promise you'll like it."

"Hmm, sounds like citizen type of duties. I'm in" he said with a bit of a lurking smirk on his face, which would never wipe away in the presence of Bianca. So, she turned, walking forward, Quint trailing a step behind.

"You won't tell, eh?"

"Nope. Gotta wait." He continued to badger her on their walk of the lower city, her answer remaining firm.

So, Bianca continued walking on, Quint trailing slihtly behind, if only by a step. She walked through the streets like a professional, Quint not being able to tell one from another, the down trodden buildings and worn street all the same. It bent and curved,slid into cul-de-sacs, bits of time-worn buildings in rubble with support beams and tension wire latched all through other buildings to hold up the massive towers above. The sun gleamed through in small slats between thesky-scrapers that seemed to stab in through it, dropping its glowing blood onto the streets below in arrows instead of drops.

A few beggars sat on the streets, nursing their knees, cursing in low tones to those who walked by and to whomever they could, talking in somewhat schizophrenic ways, living in heaps of their own belongings around them, like a sanctuary of trash. They looked at Quint with beady eyes of suspicion and doubt as he walked by. _You now live here, gotta get used to some things like that…it's how it is._ The streets veered off at cross sections, into other shady regions, with slices of light through them, lighting up a few crowded huddles of people around flaming barrels, a few gangs, people walking by with items from market, or heading to, all in their daily routine.

Wires stuck into the street with reinforced girders and were rigged with equal supports above and below the ground, the wire nearly impossible to move or break, holding up scrapers in the sky, lining the outsides of the sidewalks. Gangs or menaces might try to screw around with them, do their thing, but it had been common practice that, although Troy was far from a perfect city, there was a semblence between the lower and upper inhabitants. They both understood their places and enjoyed it how they could, those wires and tethers not being messed with (and in plus, if it fell, who would it kill?). Add ontop that the wires were held to the ground with large steel supports and were probably five inches thick and holding up gigantic buildings, they'd be impossible to cut or break due to the tension.

**Though, not to say there were no vagabonds and just generally bad people. As I said before, mercs dealt with them, if they existed. Though, the gloated mass genocide and ability to claim enough lives as Frederick, well, no one really _could_ get that much done, since their best bet would be toppling a scraper, and they have been wired up with so many tethers and reinforced enough times to withstand more than their fair share of pain before crumbling. Sure, every now and then, they needed repair, more supports, etc., but the engineering of the behemoths also used parts of Black Tech, courtesy of Zepp, to ensure Troy's well being.**

**Black Tech is kind of an Old World technology, called Black Tech for reasons that it has been black listed as evil. The world returned to a more naturistic state, relying on nothing that could turn back upon them, such as computers, or anything sophisticated enough to control itself, even in the most minimal of fashions. Sure, people still used it, and there were a lot of common misconceptions, but it was also rare. As I said before, Zepp's only connection with the ground world was Troy, since Troy had separated itself from the U.N. and Crusades, Zepp saw them in their same position, and had common aspirations. They helped out Troy, and vice versa (though it was hardly an equal relationship). It was not a _real_ friendship by any long shot, since both Zepp's autocratic rule and Troy's isolationist policies would have denied both of them to meet, but it was a rather simple ordeal that they both engaged in, when Zepp decided to float on by, that is.**

More streets, alleys, and sparse life went by their walk, solitary footsteps with the echo of bustling life behind them, people on the upper world looking down upon them wth disdain, over the web-like railings linking building to building,the suited and groomed higher class looking down every so often to curse the wicked lower level. Finally, Bianca came to a stop, looking up, drawing Darton's attention as well.

"It's a wall" he said sarcastically and unimpressed.

"You noticed that too, eh?" she said with a malicious smile back at him. She nodded her head, and he followed to a small side. The wall was a sandstone, a light yellowish-orange color, cracked with age, spray paintings and gang symbols across, showing its age and use. The buildings split the small street, lined side by side, metallic girders ripped straight through them to the ground level, bolted in with many supports, no one able to live in the stabbed skeleton of a house, holding up higher buildings. The street abruptly ended at the wall, which had a guard standing next to a large door.

Four long poles extended upward, a basket in the center, and a wire from the top all the way down to the basket-like elevator. It was much like the cargo elevator Quint had rode on in the Seikishidan Head Quarters, the four beams like a guide to the elevator as it was strung upward, the flat platofmr having a bit of a railing around it and the wire in center to hoist it.

The guard stood complacent, a small sword on his hip with a contraption on his other one, looking like a small type of pistol, obviously Zepp influenced, if not by the large and symbollic Z on the extending grip. He looked over at Bianca, shifting his weight, then suddenly spoke.

"What business does a lower city person like you have here at this elevator?"

"Oh shut up" she said to him, contininuing her walk forward. "Don't try and act like you're actually worrying about me using this stupid thing. I do all the time, and you never give me shit, so don't startnow, Rodney." The guard chuckled slowly, stepping aside.

"Well, you never know who are spies or not, since I saw you got a new guy with you."

"Yeah, I just registered" Quint chimed in to the guard. He was dressed in a normal Troy outfit, a large black belt holding up his utensils, with a pair of normal slacks, and a vest covering whatever type of shirt the guard wanted to wear at the time, the vest equally black, a sythetic leather from their friends in the sky. He had a bit of frazzled hair, from having to stand outside all day, the sun takin no mercy on him, accompanied by a heavy sun burn.

"Ah, a new guy. Where'd you come from?"

"The Seikishidan." He said with a smirk. The soldier gave him a glance of defiance and amazement, readying to say something, when Bianca cut him off.

"Come on Darton, let's get going." Darton shrugged, looking at the soldier with a smirk, then followed Bianca, the eyes of the guard trailing him as he walked forward. The small gate opened with a rusty creak as it was pulled to the left and right by a motorized wire, the pad of the elvator touching the ground as the wiresthat moved it vertically groaned to a stop and the dust on the ground settled and plumed outward as it hit. Bianca stepped on, Darton following. The elevator was open-air, like the cargo one in Paris, the four girder beams only there to guide the upward and straight flight of the elevator, a sequence of wires hanging down from some unseen mechanism at the top raising it up, hooked onto the four apexs of the square, becoming taut with force, and slowly lifting the panel, both persons finding a place to sit on it.

Darton kept his eyes plastered on the soldier, who turned completely around to look at Darton as he ascended, that smug satisfactory look on his face, and the soldier's own juxtaposition of confusion to Darton.

As the elevator chugged upward, past the guard, Darton looked over to Bianca, a smirk on his face still.

"Always frickin' smiling. What's a matter with you?"

"I just find it fun." He murmured.

"Even if you're registered…" she said, walking close to him after standing with caution on the moving platform, looking him straight in the eyes with a façade of seriousness, the grin still on Darton like a malevolent infection unrelenting to leave. "Doesn't mean you need to go promoting your past."

"Well, fine." He said, acting angry, turning his head to look out at Troy, the streets slowly falling under his feet as the massive towers became less like needles to space, and more like buildings. She chuckled, her hand reaching up to Darton's chin, pulling him looking back at her slightly. She smiled as he looked down, her finger and thumb holding his chin, then her pulling him down to her. She closed her eyes and kissed him, not so much reciprocation as it was a simple commodity that was rare. She pulled back, smiling again, her lips parting in a slight smile, and Darton's grin remaining eternal while looking at her.

"This is the part where I ask what we do next" he said in a slight whisper, her face close to his. His hand reached up also, her right hand still on his chin, and his hand now brushing part of her chin-length auburn and black hair, with sparse lengths of blonde running through, an amalgamation of all sorts of hair colors, bleached from the sun for light parts here and darker there, but staying mainly in the auburn realm, back behind her ear, revealing her green eyes behind the covering hair. She smiled, and leaned forward again, another kiss on his lips, hers parting his as she leaned more into him, kissing for a solid five seconds before pulling back and looking at him again, with a flushed face that should have been hidden by hair.

She sighed, leaning into him, his arm wrapping around her waist for security, comfort, and balance. His head leaned down over her shoulder, so his cheek touched hers.

"And now what" he said, her looking out on Troy, his eyes glancing from it also.

"I know the guard, Rodney. People use this lift sometimes, it is kind of worthless though, but it's a compromising part of the upper world bitches. This lift takes supplies to the outer rim of the ciy, along the walls. The walls then have lengths and ways up to them" she said, nodding at the buildings. "And they fear we'll add one plus one, use this to get on the outer rim, then up to the upper city."

"And are we?"

"…No, there's too much security. Just to the outer rim, I got something planned anyway."

**The parts of Troy were called certain things by habit and tradition. The ground floor and first two or three stories of most buildings were considered part of the lower city, as outlined so much in this story. The upper city, the buildings built on ruins of others, the newer materials and held up by tension wires and spider-web beams and walkway between each of the buildings, is the upper city. On the walls of Troy, there runs a massive network of walkways and ramps, elevators and stairways, considered the outer rim. It sits on top of the large walls and has a little bit of its own vegetation and life on that small area, but it's mainly a point of passage from top-to-bottom. Just a bit of geography.**

The elevator rode up its four metallic guiding rails, the tension wire hooked to a small generator that pulled on the far side of the platform, as well as the wire at top being pulled by an equal generator, each grabbing and wrapping the four meshed wires hanging loosely from each vertex of the square platform, then meeting and bolted together. It worked double fast than just a one way generator that would pull itself up the wire, or pulling the wire up with the pad attached, though they were both slow anyway, so their mixed speeds was still sloth-like, but bearable. Echoes of the wandering wire, hitting the rails and bounding off, as well as the faint distant sounds of people coming into clarity bustling on the upper rim, faces peering off the edge of the railing before resuming into the continuous flow and surge of the people there.

The pad came to a stop at the elevator station at the top, a crane with the wire running through hoop and down the length to a generator bolted to the outer rim, a guard in the same uniform as Rodney sitting in the crane, a small black book on his lap, hands on the levers, a small little light on the main panel that would flash when the bottom guard sent a signal up to turn it on or turn it off, depending on descent or ascent. One guard was posted at duty at the opening of the elevator; henodded at the guard in the crane, who made sure Quint and Bianca got off, shot a thumbs up at the other one, who flipped a lever, and it started its creaky way back down.The guard in the crane then took his hand off the lever,picked up the old Bible and read some more lazily.

Bianca stepped off, her hand finding Darton's, looking back at him with reassurance, before plunging into the massive catwalk. Darton was pulled forward, not able to see her, his grip on her hand firming, as so he wouldn't lose her, his free hand trying to fend off the people who were equally trying to brush him aside.

On the outer rim, there was a mass of different types of people. Merchants from the lower city coming up to the outer rim to search for sales from the upper city folk traveling down, upper city people coming down to find deals or something not available, the soldiers who dared not go into the lower city, who patrolled the outer rim, and more. The outer rim though was mainly one big walkway that went the lengths of the entire of Troy's walls, so that one could look out on the infinite plains, Alps in the distance, and the Mediterranean Sea off to the wary eyes. The soldiers kept pace around to make sure the lower city didn't flood into the upper city, and to watch for attack. It also afforded them time to do their own business, such as read, or buy merchandise. The job was relatively boring, since very few of the lower city people could even get to the outer rim, and if they did, they usually weren't the trouble making type.

Those from the upper city who weren't too pretentious to come to the outer rim made a point they were upper city residents, starched suits and combed hair, as well as briefcases in hand or priority in their movements and eyes. But, they were also more competent than the true upper city residents, by seeing the outer rim as prosperous, to someone who would go to it, as well as not feeling _too_ superior to the people on it. They were better people than the true upper city folk, but they were still assholes, just not the 100 type.

The outer rim itself though wasn't much more than a walkway, a very wide one with a few squatters and venders, elevators and walkways, leading down the side of the walls of Troy or up to the sky scrapers. No residency could be taken on the outer rim, but it was a way for those in the upper city to get some things they needed, fraternize, or just be for the hell of it. Also, at certain points in the day, it was better to go to the outer rim, walk around to the next walkway to the upper city, and take that, and be more punctual than go by route of upper city only, having to take a myriad of different walkways, passing through many different buildings to find the right one of business.

Quint pushed through the people, feeling Bianca's hand squeeze tighter on his as she progressed, neither wanting to lose each other in the crowd. They worked their way through the forty foot wide walkway on the top of the walls of Troy, coming to the very edge, an old and rusted metallic railing holding them from falling off. It was a simple metal railway, a metal stud to the ground every five meters, with a secondary horizontal lane parallel to the one resting at waist height. Bianca's right hand found its way onto the old metal, her left hand touching Quint's right to the metal as he emerged from the river of people, as if Charon had dropped him midway his courting across for half penance upon death.

He gasped as he reached the railing, his shoulder bumped into a few times by the crowd, smiling faintly to Bianca, whose thumb rubbed across his own hand, deep in hers. His pain subsided to his emotions in following her thruogh the crowd.

"This is what I wanted to show you" she said, nodding her head out beyond the railing. Quint stepped closer to her, then looked out.

A setting sun met his eyes, rays golden and thrown out by the retreating Helios before night came to claim stake over the sky, the night finding its way in icy fingers through the rays, streaks of purple mixing with the wirey linesof yellow and red, painted across the few clouds in the sky with an ephemeral glow. The plains reflected the sky with a haziness, showing a dull kind of gauze over the beautiful sight, grass giving a green haze to the horizon as much as the blinding sun did as well. In the far distance, the Mediterranean Sea greeted their vision with sparkles of a far off blue, throwing its colored hand into the game, as a last ditch and worthless effort, but in effort to try and stop the royal flush of night.

"Last time I stood at a railing like this, I had my back against it" he said, looking down at her. "It was the same kind, same kind of wrought iron, a few days ago." He said with that smile still on his face, kind of fading as memory lapsed over his emotions, her face looking up at him intently. "I was fighting next to Ky Kiske, fighting for the Parisian Head Quarters…it was the last battle…only a handful of Gears left, against me and him. We fought, slashing down our enemies, killing them…and we did it, except in the end, I was thrown off the edge by a Gear."

"I won't throw you off" she said smilng, leaning into him. His arm brought itself around her back, bringing her tight to his side, his height of about six foot, maybe a quarter of an inch less palatable to her five foot eight, the top of her head resting right under his chin. He looked off into the distance, his hand rubbing against her arm as he held her tight, his memories jogging back.

"I like coming here. Good view, really pretty." She murmured out, the roar of the crowd behind, yelling merchants, people screaming for an item and then eight voices replying different prices, people running through and defamatory marks yelled at those, the guards spouting rules and regulations to the law-breaker, a chuckling few standing on the side, at the railing also.

"I know what you mean" Darton trailed off.

"We can come here a lot more often as it is. You live in Troy now, Mr. Registered."

"Well, I wonder what they'd think of a Seikishidan coming here, taking away this city's little girl, moving in, and becoming a citizen?" he said with a smirk.

"Well, this city's little girl thinks it's good and fine." She said, her smirk equaling his, as it re-emerged from his previous fading sentiment at past, her lips locking with his in a slow and romantic kiss. Soft and deep, they kissed, for more than a moment, sitting in romantic penance, their gazes finding each other after separating, then looking at the distance again.

"Oh yeah, one more thing…" he said, her eyes curiously looking up at him, his smirk widening. "Zimmerman's coffee really isn't that good."

* * *

"I don't like it" an official said, the papers in his hands uneasy, flipping back and forth, examining the words printed upon them. "Ex-Seikishidan...supposedly dead, wanting to start over. And, it just happens we're also in close contact with Zepp, and it so happens this is right after the Paris attack." 

"It is indeed suspicious" another official said. There were a few of the Neo-Troy elite sitting around a small table, dimly lit from a swaying, rotted domed light with a grimed bulb, arcing slightly as to shed enough of the dirty light on the papers and table, but shying from their faces, that the light dare not even reveal those secrets. In a small back room in the back of the Neo Troy Information Agency, the head chiefs of the ground floor station crew for keeping the government's little control on the chaos down here, the meeting was held. Much like what Quint had experienced durng his innauguration (officially) to the city, the counsel men now sat to discuss the points of the day, before filing it off into a cabinet to never be seen again.

**Troy's lower city lacks government, police, and any real care. It's more like the Hell to Heaven, where Heaven has rules, standards, policies to get in, and the great God. Hell is anarchy, and a place of bad shit. On the floor of Neo Troy, the city kind of lives and rules itself by dog eat dog standards, whether it matters or not what the upper city does. The upper city is run heavily by a complex government that I won't even detail, since I value not wasting enough pages of this story to the wordy constitution they have set up there. They mock the lower world for being trash, a bunch of muggers and thieves living in the shadow of the glorious and righteous. But, Troy can't just shirk off its own people, and instills a slight, ever so slight, type of government and rules on the underside. It's not much (just figurehead bullshit), but sometimes, they really do have to make some interesting decisions. The same few officials stay onto the ground floor crew for four years before being replaced, and it's more of an insult to be working this governmental job, than say...a senator or some sort of office. And, everyday after the Registration Offices close, they all get on their secret little paths and elevators to ascend back up to "Heaven" and shows off the woes of the underworld, only to return the next day. Live in Heaven, work in Hell.**

"Well, what can we do?"

"What _can't_ we do?" another official said, poking his words in with a mocking suggestion.

"You know, we already have enough of these slum bitches on the ground floor...and we don't need anymore. Not to mention that if our suspicions are right, he could try to ally Zepp to the U.N., or Troy to the U.N., or Zepp against us. In any situation, it would be bad."

"And if Zepp found out we were letting in the Seikishidan dogs, they'd cut off all ties with us."

"Exactly" another official chimed in an icy voice. "I suggest we throw a bounty on the table."

"...Clever" the first official whimisically added.

"And, who's to miss this new guy, this one new guy? If he dies, oh shame, that's what he gets for being part of the filth down here. And, I can pull strings to make sure this entire process today never happened."

"Burn the files, bribe the secretaries with the proposition of keeping their jobs, as if they'd care, and send it on the merc circles."

"I think we got ourselves just the man, actually." another of the Neo-Troy elites said, pulling out another file, the manilla folder sliding across the table with a bushel of papers inside and a small photo clipped to the outside next to a big name marked in red.

"Is that a fact?" another said, reaching his hand out into the light to grab the file.

"He seems to be a new Troy dweller also, came in on the last MT with this 'Quint Darton' fellow...and, he is highly decorated for his exploits in other mercenary circles."

"...You think he'd take the job?" the official said back, the sounds of rifling papers heard near his voice.

"I'll make him an offer he can't refuse."

"And, who is this guy?"

"They say he uses Black Tech, wears these mish mashed garbs he sewed together himself. Not like that's new, but it's discernable. Has a funnyA-Country hat also, and, get this. He loves Aspirin...and uses a gun."

"A gun? An outsider? This guy must be real good. Not many know or use them outside here and Zepp."

"Well, we need a good bounty hunter to get this Mr. Darton; he survived Paris, the unofficial third, and helped out Ky Kiske. I do not doubt he is a very skilled soldier, which is why Kiske sent him here to make his way with us and see what he could stir up between Zepp and us."

"The U.N.'s been trying to bash us into open trade and open population migration for years. This is just another attempt. In plus, if this bounty hunter's got a gun, and is from the outside, how's he affording the bullets?"

"Maybe his reputation precedes him?"

"He's an alive bounty hunter, that says something."

"Yes, so his asking price would be pretty high. Why would he go for a low bounty such as this?"

"We don't make it low, we make it a nice, fat bounty."

"That's bad for the city to throw money away."

"What's worse? Letting him live, or Zepp declaring war on us?"

"...So, who is this bounty hunter?"

"Jeremy Colt."

Zeronova's Notes:  
And another chapter. This one was kind of a scare, since I almost lost it all, due to Win XP being evil. Came out alright, more drama. We're in a time of calm again now, until "something" happens. You're not knowing, but there will be more action, of course. Has to be, this is DG. P Anyway, I'm moving the relationship along nicely, I think, as well as fleshing out Troy as a living city that seems to be more than a mess of buildings, but spiritually alive, such as Midgar in FF7, or Taris in KOTOR, or Liberty City in GTA 3 (not the best examples, but you know what I mean, or even Dresden-4 in Identity One, for shameless plug). So, chapter 34…coming up on the 200k mark, and this story has at least 15 chapters left (I jest, maybe 35 left, at the rate my head is spinning). To those of you with me now and till the end, I'm amazed, since I honestly would not have that sort of patience even with myself to read something this friggin' long. Oh yeah, anybody notice the new character at the end of this chapter? I thought you might. Yeah, just wait this one out to see how it evolves, it's not just a plug (Like Jaygus), since I take every role, character, stroy plot, sub plot, and the writing conventions (symbols, allusions, motifs, themes, etc.), very seriously. This is going to end up being fun, and I think you'll like it. Not to mention this chapter got loooong...  
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	35. Arc 2: Dead orphans say no psalms

_In this rapid influx of growth and life, I find it tumultuous to find a time of rest. Opposing the Gear threat and battles constantly waged, not only is this something distinctly different of a timeless exhautedness, but I do not know if I favor it over the battle weary expressiveness as well. Both loom and are treacherous, in both ways, though this one is more compassionate to humanity, being as the ill-effects of survival do not result in death._

_The U.N. has moved in, with force. The MTs buzz daily, leaving and coming, from bases all around, and Geneva, more troops, Seikishidan and U.N. being carried in, as well as civilians. On the east side of the city, the MTs come from Geneva, the West side from Bordeaux, and the North from Dresden. On each cardinal direction of the city, there's a set up of Seikishidan soldiers and U.N. officials, keeping memos of every transport in and out, who it carried, what it carried, arrival, departure, and the Seikishidan there to do their peace keeping job, and watch out for Gears. I walked through those areas on the past few days...the soldiers sitting under small destroyed buildings or built shade covers, resting their days with keen eyes on the horizon for Gear and MT, talking lazily with the U.N. official posted with them, neither disdain covering the conversation or the absent feeling of another person, not dependent on who, but that it was another human, sparking each of their interests enough to make their daily routines worth while, or at least pass with more haste. My soldiers and the U.N. do not get along, but here, they're at least trying civility, and for that, I find no fault, especially with my own setting example of civility with Gestahl._

_Also, the civilians who have taken a new life in this town seem to be constantly smiling. They love the idea of having constant protection, especially me, the commander, in the same city with them, as well as the U.N. and MTs ferrying in whatever is needed so often. The interrupted silence, and silence is hardly heard in the rapidly changing skeleton of a city, is comforting to the ears of those afraid of not hearing another voice or another person. Also, the people brought in were ecstatic to see the new city...a new life in front of them, like an open window. The stacks of Gear bodies in corners and allies, some being lit by pyre, other settling in embers and ash, seemed not to faze them, but served only as pieces to shrug off of a new experience, like the "same old, same old". The buildings were quickly renovated by families, claiming certain buildings and items strewn about. _

_One family in particular I saw while walking through the streets, a few officials in tow, sorting through facts and asking questions of me, to which I answered at my own discretion, was doing something peculiar. I wanted to take a walk, as I had many times these past few days, but work never left me, so I decided to leave it, rudely walking away from the officials and questionnaires to the family of four, a mother, father, son, and daughter, each child under ten, the older daughter dwarfing the younger by 2 years. They had grabbed a small house in the center of a long road, the front had been crushed inward from Gears running and crashing through weeks prior, so they had swept out all of the splintered wood shards and glass, the metal fragments and blood wiped clean, and slowly searched other unclaimed buildings, each bringing back chairs, tables, a blanket, anything they could scrounge together. But, the one thing I couldn't help but smile at was that the girl slowly separated from her family, as they jumped building to building, her deception going unnoticed. A building she forayed into had held her captive for a minute or two, as a likewise one did her parents, the rest of her family exiting to see her exiting opposite them, meeting up and working to the next wreckage. Though, in her arms, she carried a new trinket, a teddy bear. She held it by its arm, the head hanging over the chest and the body dragged along the cracked ground as she gleefully skipped, hugged, and brought the bear to her side again. It was dirty, bits of stuffing jumping from the cuts, as well as a blood stain across it that had set into the fabric, but she seemed not to notice, content with the bear itself, hugging it dutifully when not running ahead to her parents, where it hung lazily at her side._

_I fear this though. The civilians...moved in, and living. They came with out a moments hesitation, and assumed life so awkwardly as if the men lost and battle fought was a shrug and a brush off of the shoulder. They were happy about it, but never showed true thanks for it. Though, they were respectful to U.N. and Seikishidan, always respecting us, giving us the right of way and being nice, but maybe I see too much into it. What do I want? Do I want them to praise me like a golden cafe? No, just a simple acknowledgment of the men I had to bury, maybe a condolence, and while I see those things everyday, they fail to really permeate me to the point that I deem it is enough, and that it matters. That's God's business though, I blaspheme him by usurping such an authority._

_Times are desperate, they're hard and desperate. It's like time itself would have trouble getting up to walk through another twenty-four hours, to rest for not even a second before jumping to start his roll once more, daughter and brother fighting in the sky for dominance, in light and dark. What really is the meaning of it, though? Who knows, not I. _

_What I know though, is that these new soldiers, these civilians, this time of peace...it will not last. Call it a gut feeling, but something inside of me knows, it feels, that this cannot and will not last. I am utterly incapable of dealing with peace, so maybe this is my own personal reaction to what I am fighting for, if ever this war should end, how would my life go about? But, being here, at Lyon, I know it, I can feel it...peace will not last, it never does. Not by my own doing or Justice's, maybe even the Lord's, but it cannot last. Civilians killed, Seikishidan dead, Gears murdered...I cannot say, but I know it cannot._

_Lyon is a strategic strong point. Gears want it to launch offensive attacks against all of Western Europe, we want it to secure this position so Gears do not have it, and we also control a nearly close route to Italy, and to Geneva, places of heavy conflict, with Gears and politics, respectively. Lyon will be a venue of attack once more, I cannot deny that, no one can, no one will. But, they live day to day in masks of happiness until the day something might go wrong, though they hope and pray it will not. Against my better intentions, I try and pray, though it is an aesthetic prayer, lip service, for the true knowledge I know is that it cannot, and will not. My own civility to peace, and what attracts battle and war to my inner being, will not let last this peace. I'll take MT and soldiers to Italy, or Justice will take his Gears to me...but peace, as of now, unattaible. Maybe when Justice is dead, Gears no longer functioning, I can the look over the perch of Earth, as Moses to Israel, and sigh, and be done with it...but not now, peace is not on my horizon. Not till my blade, guided by God, finds flesh of Justice, and kills him. No peace, not till then. I will not wait and be a sheep with the oncoming blade of slaughter, not a lamb to be used to martyr the doorways of the innocent, because I will lead charge on those who dare to come and claim the new born. I-_

Broken from his writing, a voice interrupted Kiske. He looked up, jolted, to see a private saluting him.

"Sir, we have orders from Gestahl to inform you of a new officer in the city." Ky's eyes only told his message that his mouth did not venture to do. "He's U.N., sir." The soldier said following up to Ky's silence. "High brass, given official command over Lyon for the time being. Gestahl requests your presence immediately, sir."

Ky stood up slowly from the awkwardly disjointed room, somewhat broken off from the rest of the building, rubble separating it from the living room. The table had been pulled up, and a chair from a different set across the street, the pen in hand found among the dirt, and notepad sifted out from the hands of a dead man. Ky flipped it shut, lying pen on top, the pages previous to his own entry ripped out and thrown in the fire, not even reading them.

"You like writing?" Ky asked in a serious tone to the soldier.

"Excuse me, sir?" he said, his salute faltering for only a moment before becoming icy in stance again. "I do not know, sir. I never tried, sir."

"Here, go ahead. Make use of it. I won't." Kiske said, handing the soldier the antique pen, a symbol of a company who issued the pen rubbed off with years of age, and the paper worn with a bit of moisture, bending in curls, and the lining on it smeared, but held together by a rusted wiring that binded page to page. The soldier grabbed it before it fell as Ky slapped it in his chest as he walked by, the soldier muttering a thanks as he swooped to pick up the items.

"Private..." Ky said, turning slightly. "Your name?"

"Hudson" he said, smiling slightly, pushing the notebook under his arm.

"You stow that, and don't let it ever come out again." Ky said, nodding to the notebook, with another affirmated salute. "You ever write anything worthwhile with that thing, be sure and tell me. The first few pages are mine, don't change €˜em, everything else is yours. And, do something good with it, that'd be worth a lot to a salvage crew." _What's this? You're being a good leader, down to Earth and calm with soldiers...superior yet friendly. Maybe you just need to be mellow, have peace itself to get you in this mood. Maybe I need a drink. Yeah, another whiskey, and Sol again to make it all work out, ha._

"I will, sir." The soldier said with a modest grin.

"And..." Ky said, a trailing voice, "where do I go?"

* * *

The bustling morning drew upon with the people filtering through the streets, filling the already shadowed underworld of Troy with an even more dark atmosphere. Business started, smoke rising up through the towers, kiosks opened for business, and the boy carrying a large wad of papers, going to each shop, tavern, and bulletin board in his area to drop off the governmental flyers.

The small boy, wearing a red cap, worn by years of age and emblazoning on it a large Red Sox logo, walked into one of his normal stops.

"Hey Bryan" the woman said behind the counter.

"Hey, just dropping off the rounds."

"Thanks a bunch, kiddo." the lady said smiling to the boy of not older than 13, flipping him a small coin as tip. He turned, started walking out with the large wads of paper under his arm, catching the coin without looking expertisely, and putting it into his pocket before disappearing into the stream of people outside of the doors of the office.

"Well, it's here" the lady said, looking over to the corner of the office. A figure stood there, leaning backwards, his feet leaning out into the visible light, the rest of him silhouetted in the back. If not for her knowledge of him being there when he walked in an hour ago, he might have seemed invisible, his unmoving stature and partially stealth demeanor of just standing there, waiting patiently, except for the low rattle of something in a bottle every few minutes.

"Finally, I been waiting to goddamn long for that little shit to bring me my next pay check."

"Well, you know the rules, bring him to us, and we'll see what we can do." the lady said again while sighing, looking at her fingernails lazily. It was an everyday habit for her, to talk to the dirt that walked through here, giving them the information they needed to get their job done. She finally held out the sheet to the man in the corner, who pushed off of the wall, coming into full view in the morning light filtering in through the door.

He had a large cowboy hat, the stiff leather of its brim nearly pure black, except for the spots of aging in the material, pants that were an amalgam of jeans, green cloths, red cloths, and anything else, all sewed together with a mish-mesh of thread and stitching to make a functional pair of pants. Covering his chest, and down to his knees, was a large trench coat, a darkened white, obviously Seikishidan, orange lieutenant ranking on the outlines of the lapell, but it was very worn. It had holes, burn marks, slashes, unravelled threads on the ends, and a beaten in collar that lost its stiffness too many years ago, hardly recognizable as the familiar white jacket-trenchcoat, now marred with a black kind of dirt on it than no cleaning agent dare to try and fight. His belt held up the mish mash pair of pants, a carving on it, a single word, Dream. **Most Seikishidan soldiers put sayings into their large metallic belts. Writing a word or two, kind of like a signifying thing and originallity, about every soldier having a word. It was sometimes nicknames, sometimes a little motto, but it always was special to the person who wrote it. I already had the scene with Ky and his belt... **The man appeared twenty-five, but also had the maturity of someone who acted much older and younger at the same time, a duality of being wise and foolish, usually the latter far too often.

He walked forward and snatched the paper from the waiting hands of the long nailed patron of the insttution, who seemed vexed by the hackneyed procedure she went through.

"Hmm...Seikishidan spy in Troy. Goes by Quint Darton. Bounty...2,000. Not too bad." he mused. "No picture though, how am I supposed to find him?"

"You're the bounty hunter, not me. You got your work cut out for you, and you'll do it for that lump sum."

"Driving a fucking hard bargain, bitch."

"You'd be amazed how many pieces of trash say that to me. It's almost a compliment to me now."

"You're complimented by being called a bitch? I fear for your chilidren, Bitch." he mocked, folding the small bounty sheet into a square and tucking it into a pocket on his pants, brushing back his coat to reach his side pocket, the sun gliting off of a holstered pistol on his belt. He noticed that the lady saw it when he had put the bounty into his pocket, then turned to face her with a sly smirk. "Yeah, it's a gun. And, it doesn't care who it kills." She seemed amazed at the gun, but still unfazed at the demeanor of this gruff man.

"Yeah, but I bet you do. Bullets ain't cheap."

"Which is why I don't take cheap bounties."

"Seems like it." The man sneered at her last words, turning away, walking to the door. As he walked by, there was a small bulletin board, littered with pins holding up old letters and wanted warrants, all for the bounties. He noticed a few faces, ones he had already collected the prices, and they hadn't taken down the sheets. He just ran his hand across the board, grabbing whatever few pieces his hands grazed, and stuffed them messily into his pocket, adverse to what he did with the bounty for Darton.

The door opened up into the large crowd, the bounty office behind him relatively empty. It had four seats, all old, a small oscillating ceiling fan, and the lady behind the counter who always was there. He had known her now for the week or so he had been here, and she wasn't fond of him, and he was never fond of crotchety bitches, but hell, they were his salary, beyond capping the dumb sons of bitches she told him to. All part of the plan.

* * *

_Dispicable...evil, vermin. Disgusting. How dare he win, how dare he live another day. One more day alive, showing me that I failed, my troops did. He controls Lyon...and I failed. Kiske, how dare you._

_Maybe it is duly noted though, that I had it coming. My dispensation of a new leader and unwilling to accept even him, the newly appointed one, was worthy. Of course, he can not replace the distinctness Kliff and I shared, and maybe I feared that. Remote viewing of Kliff on the battlefields, him cutting down my Gears, futile in front of him, his age withering in front of me over the years and battles, but yet, I do not. Destined to sit here, and look down upon all, maybe like a God, which isn't too far off what I will become, upon killing Kiske._

_This is a shock of reality...the instance of loss, the instance of my defeat, by a boy, none the less. Apt, very much so and maybe it was destined, by the one above. Yes, I was defeated of arrogance, as Adam was cast from Eden. Is it that much of a big deal? I'll have my vengeance, don't worry, God or Kiske. Both of you will get your come-uppances, do not worry._

_Set priority mapping of Gears in alpha quadrant of sector 20N to company halt at base location. Set Gear priority to stand by unless initial provoked, over to you Siren. Get me Testament._

Sitting on the stone throne, covered with an old and withered cloth for decoration, Justice sitting still as if he too was part of the stone, sitting in an unmoving position for days now, the Gears and contemplations taking place all in the head of the Gear messiah. Rain had fallen, leaving a low moisture and a small stink of growing, as weeds found root in the already destroyed Acropolis, and more specifically, the Parthenon. The destroyed columns housed wall flowers, growing in vines, with slits of shrubbery around the base, littered with stones of the destroyed buildings and bodies of the dead humans, now in skeletal form, when he seized Greece.

The specialty Gears that Justice had manufactured for the sole purpose of guarding this building stood in stead-fast arrogance, their swords tip down and hands over the top of the hilt, as stone in quality as Justice himself. Their terminated life cycle had scant a few months left, the Gears showing signs of wear and tear, a few bits of skin and blood seeping from the rotting flesh, all the while, the Gears still without order from the master. The night though, seemed to eviscerate life from it, the very sense of life sucked out through porous holes to Hell itself. Among the foggy night came a new penance though, almost as if Charon was traversing the steps.

But, to each footstep on the long stairway to Justice, who sat in the throne like God in Heaven, it was not Charon, but rather another entity. Head down in reverence, with each step echoing in the silent midnight, he slowly traversed the stairs, lined with the blood-red carpet, stained and holed, frilled and cut, ages and deaths embedded into the silk which had endured weather and hell together. The boots though, had seen hell also, though the awkward side, being of a material made by magic manipulation. On top of the boots came pale skin, and tattered rags of a uniform, previously in company of the living occupant. Each step up concerted a metallic clang as a scythe dragging behind lagged, thrust upward by the step up and forward, clanking in rhythmic beat with the boots in a disjointed ghastly serenade.

Walking past the guards, situated on each side of the walkway, five meters apart on the incline, swords in hand and still with the orders of staying put running through their heads as their bodies refused to run, leaving the orders to do the physical activity they were mentally incapable of doing. They were armored, twleve feet tall, and had unmoving red eyes, bits of flesh and blood dripping from the rotten bodies. Their life cycle was maybe five or six years, because of their special genetic sequences Justice made himself, and their "life" was due up in a few months, and they were showing their age.

"Yes?" the voice whispered as the figure kneeled forward, reaching the top of the stairway, standing in front of Justice, with a wraith like eccentricity on his lips. Justice moved, looking sideways, a bit of the previously fallen rain that had pooled on the ridges of the battle armor trickling down the side and a bit of dust and air-borne particles stuck to his body falling off as he moved, from his days-long stationary position.

"You know what to do, why deny orders?"

"Why should I not?" the Gear whispered in rapture, standing tall. The rags of a uniform, the red sergeant level piercing through the dirt and grime, some of it ink, that had stained it black over time, where cuts and wounds had been inflicted through the material, and skin closing, yet linens not healing.

"You're still a Gear, and under my control. Do not think otherwise."

"Of course, my master." Testament said, nodding his head with a bow, before resuming his somewhat arrogant stance, his ravenous black hair seeming to copulate from the surrounding darkness, seen to the infrared sensors of Justice.Testament's red eyes gleamed with a small shine of gold as well in the darkness, showing no remorse, as his free hand slowly tipped the scythe, it swaying by his side in lulling conviction.

"Ready for another mission?" the voice synthesizer asked in a robotic style, a slight touch of femininity, since it was controlled by Siren, whose own person preference (and programming) stood in the region of female, if only by subroutines to give it more of a human quality.

"Always, my lord."

"Lyon." Justice said simply, words echoing in their electronic wave length, bouncing off of the clear nothingness of the night, not even crickets chirping or waves swelling on the cost of Athens, all seeming to be silent for the sake and fear of Justice, not hidden by a midnight carnival and not any less fearsome in bright daylight either, the simple aura of Justice sapping the life from anything. **Rumor has it that where ever Justice was for a long time, there was a magical presence in the air...in the rocks and water, that somehow, the presence of him there for some extended amount of time warped the surroundings, tha death stood in place of life and time took a backseat to the flood of memories and future. There was no past, no present, no future, no life, no death, no darkness, no light where Justice was...the magic that seemed to exude from the scourge of humanity was potent enough to influence and sap it out of the very area that he stood. It isn't proven, but that is what soldiers say. There were a lot of reports about that at Purgatory in the Tibet campaign, but I can't really say fi it is true, it's just what I've heard, a lot.**

Testament looked up in a slight twinge of his humanity, an expression of confusion and dazedness at the comment, replaced with a smug smile. He stood, the tip of his scythe leaving a small trail of blood in its wake, by those slain by it, or some intangible property, unknown, but still, it existed, as if a fresh layer of the blood was put on every time Testament wandered near his master.

"One question" Testament asked as he turned, preparing to walk down the steps again, his head cocking over one shoulder. "Will he be there?"

"Of course." Testament smiled again at the confirmation, then preceded down the steps in silence, eyes closed, knowing every step and where to go with precise calculations, and under the control of Justice.

**Now, I bet you have some serious questions after reading that doozy of a section. And, it probably all centers on one major aspect: Testament. Yes, our friend we met in the beginning, who led the attack on the Parisian H.Q., and was hinted at previously. Well, now we have his character, and more than just him crossing blades with Atlas.**

**So, you ask, why can he talk? What's the point? He's a Gear, he follows orders blindly from Justice, right? He should be able to receive all orders and every prerogative like every other Gear, just simply knowing it, since Justice does, the hive mind in effect. But, it does not apply to him, obviously. Well, he is more than an average soldier Gear, as shown. Not to mention that he has a past worthy of telling, though not now, it comes around later in the story.**

**I have said before, Gears can be made in every way, shape, and form. A little girl Gear could be the strongest ever made, if the DNA was synthesized right. And, the normal soldier Gears are manufactured types, quick to be made and quick to follow orders, the gene therapy used in the most bare-bones of ways to make a soldier. When the process of making a Gear is extended out to long lengths, and becomes a precise science and art, you get a refined Gear...much like Justice, which also usually starts off with a human and infusing other DNA, where as the mindless soldiers are animals first with human DNA put into it. A Gear with thought, who reacts, and can lead others with no will of their own is better than the blind leading the blind. Also, refined Gears have an unusually long life, well over two hundred years, and who knows how long after that. Regenerating damage at super human rates, super human strength, very acute senses of sight, smell, hearing, touch, and taste, a nearly animalistic brutality (because of DNA change), and who knows what else, in the case of a refined Gear. **

**I've only ever met one, the only Gear I ever really met. I said before, I never took part in battles, I was not part of the Seikishidan, just a man in the Crusades (though I do pop up in this story, for the keen reader). I don't consider him a Gear at all though, considering he was a refined type, I almost found it intoxicating as to how much of the world wouldn't believe he was either. It really does make sense, looking back.**

**Though, Testament himself is somewhat of a refined Gear. Justice was smart when Testament was made...he refined the genes, made it so that Testament would be smart, able to think on the go, yet subservient at the same time. Somewhat of a mix of the next-of-kin for Justice (despite longevity in his vitality), to carry on the battlefield what he could not (ironic to the Kliff-Ky situation, no?). So, we have Testament, a new breed of Gear, or one of a kind, at least.**

**He thinks, to an extent. He can act on his own discretion, within programmable limits, of which Siren takes priority over until Justice gives the option not to. He can speak, ask, and learn, take orders, and also give them. It's like an extension of Justice, though more of an identity than another instrument of death.**

**My knowledge on Testament comes from the refined Gear I met, who also says he sometimes gets Justice's thoughts in his own head, as all Gears do, but he can force them out, he's better than that. Testament is a lower tier, made to be subservient, within limits, and also made for the purpose of having a different type of Gear on the battlefields despite the lumbering humanoid types, the animalistic hunters, the mutations of anywhere in-between, Testament was a prototype, and also a slap at an old rival that turned out to be somewhat beneficial in its own right. Testament can think and be human within limits, much like Justice, but is also kept within the limits Justice sets. It's kind of an in-between, if you will.**

**Maybe that sort of explanation only baffles you more, but in due time, more will be revealed. In plus, it's better to have more than one ominous enemy who can talk, right? Endless hordes of Gears and Justice; what an enemy! Throw in Testament...we have a bit more fun, no? (Though, I am sure those who died at the hands of Testament would be more than angry with that sort of humorous statement, and the many families who lost loved ones to the Gears).**

**

* * *

**

"Just kind of simple things, y'know?" Darton whispered, lying on the old couch, the cushions flat with years of being sat on, a wire jabbing into his side as the stuffing creaked out from the holes, but he didn't mind. Bianca was lying next to him on the sofa, his arm aroud her waist as they both lie close to each other, no blanket needed by their warmth feeidng off of each other. Darton shifted a little, his rustle of clothes against hers, then lied still again, his head slightly behind hers as they just lied silently on the couch.

"How long will this last?" Bianca asked with wavering stability in her words, kind of a harsh whisper. Her words needn't be louder, Darton heard them. Through the drowning bustle of night time hoodlums, jumping about the alleys and running through streets, echoes of their chants finding the ears of the safe asleep from Gears, with the accompanied roar of vehicles above, zipping around on lines and tension wires hooking buildings together with the ferrying, magnetized air-borne boats hauling materials with a metallic cringe, as if the travel itself hurt the technology to exist in this day and age, he heard it all, but it was in the background to him, forced out of his realm of caring.

"What?" Darton asked, somewhat shot out of his euphoric state of bliss, from that point of being awake and asleep, where everything is mellow, like the surface of still water with the stone settled at the bottom and the ripples dying off to small waves and vibrations that find still entropy soon.

"I mean, how long can we go at this? You living here, being all normal and who you are, and me."

"Always bringing up the small things that don't matter" he said teasingly, brushing a hair from her face as she looked up to him, perched on an elbow on the old couch as she lay in the embrace of the musty cushions on his arms.

"Well, it's been bothering me. How many romantic spots can we visit, do the romantic things before it becomes normal life. Everyday, just living it out with another person. The same kind of shit, regardless or not if you were here...I somehow yearn for that, y'know? Want it to feel like good ol' times, familiar, but if you resort to living that normal life with me...it's like there's no point in you being with me."

"Don't bring it up, it doesn't matter." He reaffirmed her. Her eyes were shown in an arrow of light from the small slats from the window in the right hand corner, like an after-thought of the room, a small one-by-one-foot window covered over by metal grating, sporting rust and taped pieces of cardboard to filter out light, though the moon seemed prone to invade, shining silver rays over her lithe face and curiously innocent eyes. "What are you so worried about? Is just being normal, a routine, making you scared?"

"I dunno, it's possible."

"Don't let it" he said low and commanding, though with good intention.

"I dunno, here I go again, always wondering and cautious, it's who I am. Never unavoidable. Always have been, kind of why I have a lot of friends who look out for me."

"Zimmerman, to be sure."

"He's a good guy, really." She said imploringly, with a smirk, looking at him from her lying position and him propped up above her, his own hair tips grazing her face that looked up to his, Bianca's face draped in moon and his shrouded in darkness, though she could tell he was there; his scent, his aura, something about him, she knew he was there, and felt safe by it.

"I was an orphan, you know. Just never got to trusting people, never got to really be able to get close to them. Always got hurt. Now with you, I see an opportunity, I want to take it, but someone inside keeps telling me to be careful, and I'm kind of falling for it."

"I'll straighten them out" he said with a grin, a finger teasing her cheek in affection.

"You see, that's the thing." She muttered. "I want to believe in you, with you, to be with you at all times...but I don't know if I can, because of myself."

"Don't say it," he said sternly.

"I...I don't know." She said, somewhat scared in her voice. Then, her arms wrapped around his neck in a sense of security and needing, pulling his face from the veil of darkness to her moonlight, and she kissed him. She kissed him, relieving all of her insecurity, releasing what problems she might have had, all of it flooding away in a resolve of emotion, in a simple one thing: a kiss. Darton pulled away slowly, looking down at her with a smile.

"I'm dead, you're an orphan. Now, I'm more alive than ever, being with you, and you're no longer alone, being with me. Leave our past behind us...let's live for the future. No Gears here, no fear of life, maybe you just need that...a life that you can live in normally with someone else..." he said, his fingering delicately brushing hair from her cheek.

"Just promise to be with me, Darton."

"I promise."

"Forever?"

"I promise. Forever." She smiled, leaning up again as he kneeled down, their lips meeting, and the moon seeming to move upward into the night even further, the silver rays brought farther down at their angle from the couch to veil it in darkness, even it knowing the simplistic value of privacy.

Zeronova's Notes:  
Well, that's the chapter. Times of peace, as well as a few interesting scenes, adding to the drama (something a lot more prevalent this time around, and I do it better this time, I think). Good times. Not much to say, this is 175k, yay for that...it's gonna keep going, and it ain't stopping. It will definitely hit 250k, or more. As I see it...we have the calm of Arc II, the end of Arc II, then all of Arc III, Arc II's end coming at about230k or above, and Arc III being an entire arc, so that's gonna be big. Longest GG story? Definitely. Will it stay at the top? Until Identity One is finished, but we'll all be dead by then. And, I love snow.  
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	36. Arc 2: You destroy, I fix

The destroyed fields of what was left of Greece lie before Testament, his steps off of the giant stairway coming to the gravel at bottom. His scythe tipped into the gravel slightly, a few rocks moving aside from its crimson tip, black eyes hidden behind black hair, an untamed and wild mop on top of his head, and rags of an old uniform hanging from his shoulders and around his legs in equal black. His skin was pale, a contrast to the darkness and covered moon, which itself looked like a ripped piece of flesh from the body of the Gear and thrown into the heavens.

He stood at the base of the stairway, loking over the other ruins of the Acropolis; the temple of Athena Nike's four colonnades bashed and battered, it's square base littering the surrounding grounds, the Propylaea's few foot steps and multitude of colonnades shattered and almost indiscernible from a pile of rubble that iwas once the entryway of the Acropolis grounds. The ground of the Grecian monument was littered with boulders, of rubble and stone, and man smaller rocks of gravel lining its walkways made by trampling feet of Gears. The rocks seemed to be forced into cement status by the sand that was packed in the holes, old bricks holding up walls that hardly stood, and the small gardens surrounding the elevated hill being removed of its green by the malignant settlers.

The malignant settlers being Gears, and thousands. The masses of them stood still, lying down, husking over rocks, breathing rhythmic in pattern, so every breath inhaled and exhaled of the giant mass at once, by the command of Justice. None of them were moving, except for a few designated few (**get to it later)**. They all sat on the wreckage, laid across heaps of rubble, in the small weeds growing in through the gravel ground and vines up and across the destruction, leaving Eden to reclaim its grounds, without the interference of humanization.

Each step Testament took, the Gears parted, leaving the gravel underneath for his boots over their biological carpeting of the area. The Gears took up all of the space around the base of the Parthenon, leaving no space, except for the stairway up, which was barren, except for the select special Gears, manufactured by Justice himself to sit on that exact stairway. Orders rained from the top of the stairway to heaven, as Justice would say, his throne being the Episcopal entry of holiness itself, though the orders were unheard audibly. Racing through the Gears' heads, orders to move, relocate, legs moving, contracting 72 degrees for a step of the left leg, 98 degrees for the right, parting a way with each sequential step of Testament to get through unfazed, the Gears mindlessness only obeying the orders. Even those orders ran through Testament's head, hearing the feminine voice, the elctronic lull of estrogen, yet he didn't follow the orders, they were not represented to him. The voice stayed though, he always heard it, heard Justice in his head…a voice in the back, telling what to do, and you'd have to follow it, it was unable to not. Though, the orders ranked lower than his biological transformation would allow, and thus wouldn't follow the orders, but higher intensity orders he was unable not to follow.

The outlying garden had been razed, Gears lying where there were trees and grass, the destroyed town of Athens lying in front of Testament, reaching the edge of the grotto where the Acropolis started. To the beachfront was a stretch of small buildings, the dotted roofs and windows innumerable, rising and falling with the hills, streets lost below, though of course, Justice's battle A.I., Siren, knew of all of them, if needed to be called upon, and his direction flawless to his destination, if he decided to or was coerced into following the orders issued in his own mind, like a rattling tambourine that never silences. In the darkness, the waves lapped up on the barren city, the bodies mostly collected up from the city and…used, the beach completely clean and white, as well as the clear water smiling back at the moon with a reflection of simplicity that the moon would be bashful to accept as her own.

A dim light burned through the allies though, at a azimuth direction of 58 degrees in front of Testament, the voices in his heard mathematically contracting his muscles and taking the steps with precision of a program incapable of error or sub-par efficiency, unless manually over-rode by Justice. So, down the hill Testament walked, the mass of Gears at the foot of Justice's massive throne building sitting around, not moving or working, but stagnating, waiting…for the second that voice buzzed to life from their minds, the slow and dulling lull of the voices inactivity like a melody not even Ulysses could have avoided.

Slowly stepping through the thicket of life growing near the city front, he stepped between buildings, Seikishidan issue boots trampling on the road with efficient weight distribution and speed, slowly denied by Testament who preferred a more lulled way of arrogant walk, the priority of his commands leisurely backing down to allow his more sentient being to take over, though he already knew where he was going and why, as the voice reminded him.

Coming around a few corners, the blood stains and severed limbs occasionally lying in the street to accent the broken buildings, shattered glass, and destroyed life of the city, he came to the center of the dim light. The bodies were stacked in heaps, being reached at by a fw of the toiling Gears, never blinking, stopping, thinking, taking a break, just grabbing the bodies, throwing it to the next Gear, who would split it open, removing all useful organs and tissues with a dull piece of metal, and tossing the carcass aside for the next. The pool of blood gathered on the discarded organs, a putrid stink of the already dead suffering post-mortem humiliation. Another few Gears would collect the discarded carrion, taking it to a device that had a central link to Justie, a sub routine analyzying the organs, taking cell samples, DNA, seeing what was useful or not, then tossing them aside, a conveyer belt loading each of the tools on as it was stabbed and poked, analyzed and digitized, then the machine spitting out the deformed and rotting liver to a stack on a wall.

Justice would collect DNA, make perfect ones from the traits of others, constantly find new methods and ideas, and make these new Gears, seeing efficiency, the discarded pieces of body and flesh sometimes becoming the new Gear itself, if so deemed, b ut not at Greece, not yet. He hadn't the supplies to make his forces, nor could he quite set them up. Tibet struck a deadly blow, where he had all of his abominations and devices, destroyed by the Seikishidan, but he had back ups. His relatively new relocation to Greece suffered him the blow of taking only what he could carry…which meant every Gear in his force, though no new ones at the current time, but he had more than enough, numbering in the thousands.

Another few of the Gears working around the small campfire of raw and dead, constantly tossing in the lifeless and gutted corpses of men and women to keep it burning, toiled away from materials ferried in from around the city by search patrols. Metals and plastics were brought to them, hammers mending them to one, and making new weapons for the Gears who had not the inclination of natural ones, like razored teeth or jagged bone obstructions.

Testament's unwavering black eyes met each gear, looking up sequentially as they were targeted by his gaze, both his return transmission to Justice and then to the Gear he was looking at working like clockwork, almost simulating a sense of life in the drones. The Gears knew what they had to do, Justice knew everything to be done, but he sent Testament none the less, who had a personal aspiration as well.

Searching over the final products of the new weapons, the battered copper and aluminum, bits of steel and iron for the lucky, the bones mended to sticks and rocks sharpened for guerilla tactics appeasing him, as well as seeing the blatant efficiency of the mindless.

"Lyon…to see you, my friend. Once again, we meet on the battlefield, Kiske. Don't disappoint me, don't let down the Holy Order in your name or His. Don't let it down for Father." Testament uttered, watching the disgusting site of the butchered people of Greece get mangled and the battering of new weapons under the dim bon-fire of flesh.

* * *

"Excuse me, please open up, sir." The voice repeated itself, with a light knocking. Kiske stood up slowly, the fold-out cot held up by metal support beams, one that had been salvaged from some patrol troops digging through rubble, giving it to the commander hoping for a promotion that never came.

It was mid-day, and Kiske was just lounging in the small destroyed building that used to be a shop. The inside was thrown about in a mess, and cleaned out by a few soldiers for Kiske, who made accommodations in the form of a half of a shattered mirror, the cot, and his own trinkets lining the walls. His cross on a nail hanging from the wall-papered wall (which was hanging from age in places, revealing a yellowed dry wall behind it), the Fuuraiken leaning in a corner, his top-heavy garments of his uniform over a few small chairs from the shop that would have the pedestrians who walked in sit as their order was prepared.

He was in the standard issue Seikishidan pants, and his light tee-shirt, a white, semi-transparent one that went underneath all of the garments, a basic undershirt, with no sleeves and arced into a low cut on the chest, below his clavicles.

He opened the door, shades adorning the two windows side by side that would allow bypassers to look in upon it, so his knowledge of the company outside was next to nothing.

Upon opening the door, he wished he had not. Seeing Gestahl standing a good few inches above the man in front, who stood at a portly 5' 7", the rather tall, yet old frame of Gestahl dwarfing him.

"I am with the U.N. security commission. I am here to take the events of the preceeding battle, for recording."

"You mean tribunals" Ky said with a maliciously low voice, seeing Gestahl smirk slightly behind the man, who scoffed at the notion.

"Is this your living quarters?" the man said, halfway pushing past Ky into the shop.

"Currently" Ky said with a slight dissatisfaction at the man, his perfectly trimmed black suit ironed and pressed, hiding his massive gut and obtrusive chins. **U.N. officials usually wear black when addressing other U.N. officials, or at the central agency. Otherwise, a more formal color is white, or if you're Sekishidan going to Geneva, white's the color. It's kid of detrimental, and class based, though hardly, it's just there for kicks to those who take enough time to actually care. **The man perused around the shop slightly, a clipboard in hand, pen twiddling in his outside fingers, his beady eyes scanning over every thing; the peeling wall paper, the bits of rubble left on the floor, the cracked and water-damaged ceiling, the missing back wall (which had been closed off by a draping sheet by Kiske's underlings, of which he didn't ask, which rang true of just about everything he received, the soldiers doing it of good will and faith to the commander, just brown nosing).

"Satisfactory" the man said in his voice that seemed as portly as his with a squeamish tendency hidden in the bellowing words that jumped their way from his corroded throat. Ky gave Gestahl a glance of disbelief as he stepped in, only shrugging, looking him in the eyes, though Ky didn't quite care.

"And you are?" Ky said, folding his arms, trying to remain calm.

"Hans Oppem, U.N. official of"

"Recordings." Ky finished off.

"Yes, I said that already." Hans said with a slight distaste to Ky, looking down at his clipboard while assuming a seat on one of the three stools left manageable after the Gears destroyed the shop at the initial raid of Lyon, dating four and a half weeks prior (**Lyon was seized about a week and a few days earlier from this point**). "So, let's get to it. I am representing the U.N. council in this matter for the recordings of this battle and session. You, Kyle Kiske—"

"Not, Kyle, just Ky."

"…Ky Kiske, are the commander of Seikishidan, survivor of the Lyon incident." After repeating the day's date, time, and all the other necessities by the practice of a U.N. recording, he finally got to it. Ky managed to take a seat on his cot, taking the hanging gold cross from the nail above his bed t put it around his neck over his undershirt, which did a good job of accenting his lean physique, especially for 16.

"The mission started as per Adam Gestahl's briefing and direction. To enter the sewers through three different points, use the flare guns if encountering resistance and to meet up at the center of the city, already told to us, and on the maps given to the navigators of our groups. Each group had two-hundred soldiers, or close to it, and one flare gun, one compass, one map, as what you rationed us." Oppem furiously scribbled his antique pen across the pad, taking down the words as they were said, Ky not slowing down to let him write any more, but the speed of the fat man's hand rather surprising to Kiske and Gestahl.

"We were…ambushed. All of our flairs went up at once." Ky said, his eyes peering over to Oppem, who sat diligently writing the notes on the paper pad attached to a metallic clipboard, hinges to open up and insert the pad inside, the inscribed U.N. symbol across the top of the shining alloy. "From there, we all rushed to the center of the city, all three groups converged. We were backed into a cul-de-sac, and fought the remaining Gears and finally defeated them all."

"You were ambushed by a larger force and still won?" Oppem said, his chin (and subsequently lower ones) rumbling as his low voice bellowed, his German accent permeating through his words in a way one might have though his name Auric.

"We had some very dedicated soldiers." Ky reaffirmed, leaning over his legs from his sitting position, resting his arms over his knees. Gestahl was standing on one of the walls, arms folded behind his back, leaning slightly, watching. More than one party must always be in the presence of an off-site recording, and Ky also found Gestahl more consoling than any other U.N. official he met, so he didn't have much of a problem with it. "And, Gestahl here was waiting outside of the city with three MTs to get the wounded, and a troop of A.A.'s." Ky said, nodding to Gestahl, who nodded at Oppem when the beady eyes hidden by rosey and large cheeks looked upon him for verification, turning back down to his pad to take more notes, if not word-for-word.

"…All right, and what of Sol Badguy?" Oppem said, flipping pages back to notes and official business. Ky cringed at the name, looking to the back of the shop where the sheet had been nailed to the ceiling to provide some privacy, wind billowing across the surface, causing the white sheet with drops of crimson stained onto it to ripple like waves.

"He fled soon after the battle ended."

"We were hoping you would have detained him." Oppem said forcefully and aggirvated. "I would think that, considering your past, you wouldn't have let Sol leave." _You're right, Oppem. But, I told him to leave. I told him to get out of here and not to show himself around me again. I can't hold him, I can't detain him so you can try and ask him questions or endanger the lives of my soldiers or you. He's a tarnish, a blemish on the Seikishidan, and he is worthless._

"Well, too bad." Ky said, standing from his cot. "Is there anything else you need, Mr. Oppem?" Ky said, innerved by the man and trying to keep his reserve.

"Number of casualties, soldiers you know of the be K.I.A., or alive, with 100 guarantee. As well as what you could have done to"

"The recordings are to ascertain fact, do not patronize me as to my leadership." Ky said authoritatively. "There is a graveyard about three blocks east from here, but the crosses are too few for the bodies. Ask the other soldiers to compile your report, I cannot answer those questions. Thank you and good day." Ky said with a sneer, opening the door to the shop. Oppem wrote down the last statement, stood up, and walked out with an elegant poise, except for the angry visage he had painted across his pudgy face at Ky. Kiske turned to Gestahl, who stood off of the wall and proceeded to the door, stopping in the door way and turning to Kiske.

"Don't let it get to you, Mr. Kiske. They're always like that."

"I know" he said back with a timid smile, the uneasy anger subsiding as the portly man tried stopping a few soldiers in the street whow alked past him like he didn't exist, rapidly yelling for somebody to help him or to answer his insulting questions before turning to what he thought was east, and walking off with an annoyed sense of speedand arrogance in his steps. "Though, he's _your_ official."

"I try not to think of that too often" Gestahl said with a slight smirk on his old and wrinkled face, his gray-to-white hair slicked back in perfect fashion, as it always was, with a shine on it that never failed to at least capture part of the blue above him. "Though, get used to him. He will be the U.N. commanding officer here for a long while…"

"Exactly what I need." Ky quipped. Gestahl nodded, taking a step out the door, when he was stopped by Ky's mention of his name.

"Gestahl, wait." Gestahl turned slowly, amused, without a sense of urgency in his body, inquisitively looking at Kiske. "Tonight…there is a gathering, amongst soldiers and civilians. It's more or less a celebration that we are here, we colonized this city, and we won. I wouldn't mind if you came. No by-word-of-mouth is said of it, only in whispers and short tongue, because of the fact no one wanted any U.N. there."

"I do not suspect there will be a shortage of A.A.'s." Ky chuckled a little at Gestahl's correct assumption before continuing.

"Yes, but, I think that you're not the type of U.N. official we would be determined to not have had there. Southern district tonight, I would be honored if you would join us."

"I am honored by the invitation. Good day." Gestahl said with his elegant and composed self, dating back to another day and age gone by, as well as showing a deeper character than what was led on by his U.N. official façade, of which they tend to be very condescending, over-bearing power-hungry fools, watching war with a distasteful eye, not because it is war, but how it was gone about, assuming an infinitely wiser aura of everyone else, especially Seikishidan. Gestahl walked off, trailing the side of the street and between the destroyed and shattered buildings, though the city looked admirably better by each passing day, being cleaned and rebuilt, by both the soldiers and civilians.

Zeronova's Notes:  
I don't have much to say, except that we see Oppem, a neat new character that basically works as a big U.N. asshole. Also, we see more of Gestahl's humanity and his relationship with Ky, yadda yadda, my normal bullcrap notes, you know how this goes. I can't friggin' beat Metroid Prime 2...


	37. Arc 2: Doing a wee bit o' spelunking

The light filtered in, as per routine, the small glass window letting it slip through the dirt and grime covered over. It stealthily sneaked up, anticipating another successful waking up of a snoozing man on a couch, tentatively evil in its ambitions of rousing sleep from the tired. But, the light had not the pleasure, the victim waking before the light could attack him. Quint knew always the light woke him, shining upon him in the mornings to piss him off and wake him up, and his body had a biological timer to now know it. Seeing the oncoming light slowly pervading the room in its rectangular luminance, he turned over, wrapping a spare garment he found on the ground with a lazy hand throwing it over his face in victory. The sunrise tried nudging him to full awakeness, shining upon him, but he out did it, one-upped it. He was the victor.

And, so lasted another hour of sleep, until normalcy of bodily functions awoke him. Rising to sneer at the sun which had inadvertently won anyway, he took his mumbling and waking steps to the bathroom. Exiting a few minutes later, and a few pounds lighter, he looked around the small apartment. Nothing much to it, no real food there, as of now. He and Bianca would go to Zimmerman's later, pick up a breakfast snack, waste the day loitering in Neo-Troy, who knew. Taking a stretch of his arms, noticing briefly how the bone was slowly healing itself to the point he could actually maneuver his arm, and his right arm's gash only leaving an unsightly scar across the median of his deltoid, he was rather good as new, only a few more weeks.

Walking over to the door next to the bathroom door, the one he knew to be Bianca's, he slowly opened the door. It slid into the wall, the creaking wood crying ever so lightly as Darton stealthily slid it open, inch by inch. The golden light filtered into the darkness from around his outline, leaving blots of light to illuminate a dresser and trinkets, bits of blanket, outlines of her figure under the sheets, and her mumbling and turning over unconsciously from the invading light. He smiled, closing the door again, as slow as he opened it, to not wake her, leaning on the adjacent wall for a moment to think.

He sighed, then approached the front door of the apartment, its many locks secured and in place. He knew the mornings were wet and cold, he was on the Italian border, it was normal, as well as seeing his sword leaning in a corner, but only grabbed his Seikishidan issue top coat, to keep him warm. **While the Seikishidan issue garb would get him killed, it was not as if some people didn't wear them. In times like these, if you could get clothes, you wore them. And Seikishidan garbs were relatively versatile and warm.**

A familiar walk down the iron catwalks and down the ladder let him stand on the noisy streets of Troy. The throb of people and life ran in his ears and shook him to the bone, trampling masses from one shed to the next for food and items, back and forth like a mass of ants without a queen to dictate. A walk of shoving, pushing, clawing and determined tacklig later, he found himself grasping the handle of a familiar shop, like one lifeline to the side of the canyon before the torrential stream tore life from him down the rapids. Pushing through and nearly stumbling down onto his knees, he stood slowly, brushing himself off.

Weary eyes met him as Zimmerman's stout and small figure leaned over the counter, deep set Italian eyes with darkness brooding behind then only gave contempt to the figure that had just fallen through the door, the familiar cowbell dinging as he entered. Darton smiled a mischevious smile as he walked over to the counter, taking the last bit of debris off of the white Seikishidan lined in green private rank, somewhat faded from its pristine holy white.

"I don't got any food for you, 'Kishi'."

"You got food for a paying customer." he said with a sly tone in his voice, completely opposite to the detestfulness in Zimmerman's. The shop owner shot a spit to the small bowl in the corner behind the sink, hitting it with a ping, somewhat in disgust of Darton. He knew he wouldn't turn down someone who could pay, but he also had moral obligations against him. "How about this: You don't need to say much, just serve me the usual." Darton smirked.

The man grunted, and got to work, grabbing items furiously off the large shelf behind him and on the counter, moving to the stoves and plates, forcefully taking his aggression out on the preparation of the "usual". Darton took a moment to look around him, swivelling on the chair at the counter to see an old man sitting near the far end of the small shop, a cup of coffee on the table, and a book in his hands, old eyes looking through old spectacles to the words of the Old Testament.

**As I said before, not many books existed in the world. And, the few that did, were usually just the Bible, since it remained in print, thanks to the Seikishidan and U.N. Other books, works of fiction or works of romance, laughter, and anything else that might fall into the realm of anything NOT with the Bible, had been destroyed over the years. Not contraband by governments or by distatse, but simply that it wasn't something people held as dear as the Bible to save. Sure, they still existed somewhere, in some places, but they were not easily accessed or known about. I said before I had found myself a library, aged by yars and weather, destoyed decades prior, and read a few books left by the people who had written them centuries ago. I am fortunate and lucky, since it was rare for me, and would be equally as rare for anyone else in the world, save for a certain man (if I should call him that) I know. Any other books...were considered rare and keepsakes passed down and cherished. Words were learned by heart and read nearly nightly, not dependent on how many times it had been read. This is partly why I try and write a book now in these times. To have a new publication, something not the Bible, something new for people to see and know about. Sure, it may just be a narratyion from a certain point that everyone knows about, but it is something, and that is what matters.**

**Oh yeah, before I forget. Zimmerman is Italian...but his name is of German decent. People sometimes just take names in these times, because their lineage and true heritage is somewhat lost amidst the inconsistency to track it. He's Zimmerman because his father was, and the father before that, despite being pure Irish. Somehow, they picked up the name, despite region, and it stuck.**

The plate fell from Zimmerman's hands, not angrily, but hit the counter with enough of a thud to draw Darton's attention. He sneered and walked away, grabbing up a towel and mug, and starting wiping the mug from all sides, as normally bar tenders do, one eye locked on Darton at all times. Quint muttered a thanks, and picked up the antequated fork and started to eat. A few minutes later, he set down the fork on the half-finished meal, wiped his moth, and looked over to Zimmerman, who only had the look of disdain pointed at Darton as he exchanged a clean mug for a dirty one on the counter, the dirty glasses in a line to be washed by his miracle cloth in hand.

"What's your problem with me, Zimmerman?" he said without any sarcasm, leaning on arm on the counter.

"Don't make smal talk with me, 'Kishi'."

"This isn't small talk. This is a question, and you should answer me, because like it or not, I'm not leaving here." Zimmerman only made a tsk noise, and continued cleaning. "Does the word tip interest you then?" Darton added ont he end, knowing the reaction elicited would be in his favor.

"You want my problem? It's because of her."

"Bianca."

"Yeah, _her_. I don't want you around her."

"Come on, old man. You can't tell her she can't be with me or not."

"Like hell I can't."

"Afraid she'll grow up?" Darton mused.

"It's different."

"Oh really now? 'It's different.' How is it different?"

"Not yer business, 'Kishi'." Darton countered by reaching into his pocket and dumping a few bills and coins onto the counter, with the metallic clang and rattle of a few coins settling to their flat sides. Zimmerman looked at the amount with a tentative eye, then sighed, set down his loved cloth and dirty glass, walked over to Darton, put both of his hands on the counter, and leaned forward.

"Why ya doin' this, 'Kishi'?" he said dangerously, a lingering morning-breath hitting Darton in the face.

"Because like it or not, I'm here to stay. You can be an ass, or accept it also. And, I'm tryin' to make the best of it, you can too. Care to answer now?"

"Because you're gonna fuck that girl over."

"What?"

"I'm like that girl's father, I don't need any kid just fuckin' it up for her. Leave her be and just get out while you can before you hurt her."

"You think I'm gonna hurt her?"

"I know you will."

"Why are you so damn protective of her?"

"It's long and doesn't concern ya."

"I'm paying for your time, I want to hear it."

"Fine, wanna know the story? You got it, boy." Zimmerman pushed off the counter, crcking his knuckles and correcting his taut posture, a bulging body fit into tight clothes and a small frame, standingsomewhere belowfive-feet-six-inches. "She's an orphan, you know?"

"She told me."

"Well, I've lied to her for the better part of her life about a few things, because it's better for her. She is an orphan though. Some of these things don't leave here, got it?"

"You're talking for money, money talks for no one. I'm listening."

"I'm thinking that she came from Venice or some other small place near there. Like eighteen years ago, she got here, just a toddler. Seems Venice had just been torched by Gears, completely over run and destroyed. No 'Kishi' in the area, since they were all over at Jakarta, setting up that mammoth. There was an orphanage there, and for good cause. The lady who ran the stupid place escaped Venice, and had taken a few children with her. She had a few holes in her, stab wounds, a bit of slices and looked dead already. She got to Troy and ran into the walls, screaming and crying, and as soon as she touched them, she just crumpled there and died, this girl in her arms."

"She had basically been dead for a few days, but kept on going and moving with the only thought in her mind to get to Troy and get this little girl to safety she had been carrying. She ran from Venice to Troy, that's a good hundred miles, and she never stopped, never rested. She just ran, this nice lady, and her body was out there beyond Troy for a day or so, until someone realized she was there and a baby was crying. Bianca had to have been a few years old at this point, not beyond four though, she wouldn't remember any of it. That lady had ran that huge distance just to save Bianca, and died as soon as she reached here. The council said they wouldn't take the baby in, it was a security breach to open the gates for just one baby, since it takes a goddamn long time to get those bitches open and close, and the Gears could get in if they opened it just for one thing, since those buggers move fast."

"So, I said I'd take her in. I spent my savings, got her an apartment, raised her up like one of my own, like a daughter, and been helping her out ever since. I never wanted to be a father, but I wanted to raise her, so I bought her that apartment a week after I got her, and she lived there. Girl learned to live on her own real damn well, but I always was there if she needed me. I wasn't going to be her father, I couldn't take the hurt, after my own family and daughter was taken from me, God rest their souls. Now, I get some 'Kishi' ass moving in to try and hurt her and fuck her life up, and I won't allow it."

"Calm down, old man." Darton said. "I'm not gonna hurt her...if anything, I'll make sure I don't. I won't make her feel pain, I promise that. Only thing that might is the indigestion from those eggs, Zimmerman." he smirked.

"You can leave if you don't like the service." he sneered, grabbing up his glass and rag and walking back to the other side of the enclosed counter, mumbling under his breath some indecencies at Darton's expense. Quint, on the other hand, just smiled, reaching into his own pocket, and grabbing out some more money and plopping it down onto the counter before standing up, jingling the bell hooked by a string to the door, and exitting into the mass of people outside.

A cautious Zimmerman waded back over to where the former Seikishidan soldier sat, eyeing the money. He picked out the coins from paper money with his stubby fingers, then spitting once again to the pot in the shop with disgust, jingling the money into his pocket on his apron. True to Darton's word, there was an ample tip, more in the tip than the meal was worth.

* * *

Night fall on the giant city was nothing to be around for. It got ugly, quick. The gangs came out, looting whatever kisok hadn't packed up and gone home, and mugging (usually killing) anyone who walked it, with or without a weapon. The gangs were a real problem on the underside of the city, but unlike the merc system in place for some makeshift police, the gangs each demanded respect of each other and kept themselves in a sort of feudal government of power with each other.

Old men scurried home, women fled with children, and anyone not in one of the gangs was either in doors or heading there. The gangs attracted the younger people, being their work force of no good deeds, the older one became in the gangs, the more respect they gained. Each gang basically had its own hierarchy, and eventually, leader. Ranging from old fat guys who talked with a slur to young, Irish boxers with a penchant for hard liquor, the street gangs were more than just hooligans; it was nearly life at night.

**Maybe I've jumped the gun a little, no pun intended. Jeremy Colt...I met him, only once. Heard of him a little. He was a bounty hunter, almost as famous as Sol, but Sol never failed. Colt wasn't 100, but he was good, damn good. Not to mention his legendary pistol, and shady past in the Seikishidan, he's as much a legend as Badguy. Difference being that while Sol was never known to lose a bounty, Colt was, and he didn't just lose a bounty, he sometimes screwed up, bad. One such story goes about his endeavor to collect on a British U.N.-hater who was rallying to strike against the Seikishidan somewhere around London. Colt took the offerof the man's head for the man's weight(in grams) in World Dollars (a very hefty sum). Well, Colt didn't finish his mission, he was caught. The political dissenters were basically going to kill him to show the U.N. they were nothing, and they had already been killing rampantly other humans they disagreed with (so stupid, especially in this war), but Colt lived.**

**About a month after the botched assassination, Colt resurfaced, taking more bounties. The London man will killed, and his entire following, but no bounty ever collected...no one knows why. They say Colt killed him, but was so ugly with him, that if he brought him in, they'd never be able to tell if it was him or some random vagabond he beat to a bloody pulp. The odd thing about the story is how Colt was captured, tortured, and they probably tried everything to kill him, but Colt has some special knack for not dying. That's one of his neat things, he just won't die. There have been bounties on Colt even, and there have been accounts of stabbing him, throwing him off ledges, beating him for hours on end, drowning, and he just never wants to die. He's not super human, he's just got one hell of a will to live. Or, maybe his will to live is exactly what makes him super human. Your decision. He has no fear of anything, and even if he screws up bad, there's never too much worry for him. Stoic? You betcha. But, that's also a real stupidity.**

Colt had taken his rounds after he left the bounty office that day, checking cantinas, bars, local hotspots, kiosk venders, guards...no one knew anything of Quint Darton. _He sure as hell was keeping a low profile for being a Seikishidan spy..._ Finally, he decided to do what all people do in Troy when they need help when in the lower city. Turn to the gangs.

He had found a nice little niche on the East side of the massive city, spent a while browing the worthless junk, debating spending some of the money he got from some low bounties he had collected in his scant week in Troy, which was actually pretty astounding, considering the amount and time he had been there. All he came out with in the end was a super bulk case of aspirin, and a lousy prostitute. After those fun events, he basically waited out his time in the streets until dark came. The life thinned from Troy until the nights finally fell and the golden rays of artificial light seemed to rain down in ironic tear drops from the sky scrapers above on the streets and tension wires holding the cement goliaths up.

He took out his pistol, shining the side with his old Seikishidan trenchcoat, then pushing out the circular chamber. It was an old six-shot pistol, emblazoned with the brand of Colt across the grip. **If you're man enough to back it up, you can call yourself whatever you want in this world. No one can deny you were or weren't named something, and even if you weren't, in the case of Sol Badguy and Jeremy Colt, they didn't have anyone to challenge their names, and those who did regretted it. So, you either accepted what they told you to call them, or accepted more violent means of persuasion. Neither were too friendly, but Sol definitely being the moe impersonable of the two. It's pretty common for mercenaries to be assholes though. Nice mercenaries never last long, in plus, how does a nice mercenary end up killing somebody anyway? It's a contradiction.** Spinning the chamber, looking at the six bullets he had in there, he pulled each one out, examining it. Bullets were expensive commodities, you didn't just shoot anyone, since that bullet might have been worth more than that poor soul that you just murdered. But, nothing beats a gun when you need something quick, fast, and deadly. Colt spun the wheel again, slapping it into the center of the gun with a trained quality that he seemed to pull off with perfection in style and grace.

"Come out, come out, you little dicks..." he muttered, seeing the moon slightly starting to lift from the horizon, signifying it was time for the gangs. He reached into the opposite pocket of the one filled with bounties, and pulled out one of the bottles of aspirin he got from the large crate. That crate he bought he conveniently hid in the middle of some alley somewhere under a bunch of trash, so no one would find it. And, if they did, big deal, aspirin. But, he needed it, and it'd be useful. "Don't make me get a goddamn headache, you stupid gang fuckers..." he said, swallowing a handful of the pills without any hesitation or care before returning the now significantly lighter clear bottle to his pocket with a light rattle.

Sure enough, they came with enough time. Led by a boy of his late teens, smirking with a bit of his own self presumed elegance, followed by a convoy of other members of the gang, each carrying pipes, small swords, worn weapons, and whatever else they could use. They used their most sinsiter of faces, looking out for trouble, not waiting for it to begin. Like a nocturnal predator on the hunt, they were ready.

"Looky here, some dumbshit in acowboy hat wants to be out here on our turf at night." the boy said, walking out of his alley to where Jeremy was leaning against the wall.

"Let's make this simple and sweet, boy. I wanna see the leader of your gang."

"Oh really? You're not going to, Dumbshit." The last words muttered by the boy echoed in the deathly silent streets as he fell down to the ground, grasping a knife dug into his chest, quivering in pain before finally subsiding to equal silence of the streets of Troy. Whispers and grunts from the rest of the convoy of gang groupees, none of them older than the one small gang leader, circulated around to attack the man, and they rushed on him, stopped about ten feet from the man as a gun was pointed at them in the gray darkness.

"Don't push me, kids. I just want to see your fucking boss, and this won't be hard, unless you want to die. Because, I can still do that _and_ see your boss, it's just gonna slow me a little." He smirked, holding the pistol level and straight at them with an air of cockiness and pure joy at their fear and the smell of the now corpse beneath his feet. The blood stank a littlelike putrid copper, waftng up to his nostrils, as the blood filtered from the boys lifeless hands encapsulated around the knife in his sternum, filling in the cracks of the cobblestone walkways of Troy, between and around each ofthe protruding stones to form a pool like outline of where the grout of each stone seperated them from their geological brothers, now dyed in fresh crimson.

Jeremy walked forward with his gun pointed at the small group of gang affiliated teenagers, a few walking around and behind him, checking their friend and muttering a few more curses before they all finally surrounded him.

"No more fore play, you masturbating little shitdicks. Take me now."

"And if we kill you?" a kid hissed out, holding his withered and dented Seikishidan sword he got from a pawn shop.

"You can try, but you will be dead long before me. Save yourself the trouble."

"You got the trouble, bitch."

"I doubt that."

* * *

_That punk said the base should be around here...he had no reason to lie. Kids don't lie when you break both of their arms. Better get searching._ Colt threw his head back, downing a few more of the pills from the bottle, tossing the now empty container to the side of the street where it clanked like thunder among the silence of the frightened Troy streets. A small alley sat in front of him, a dumpster discernable on the inside by the waning street lamp, moths attracted to the light, leaving a flittering display of the orange to the ground. Beyond the rusted dumpster lie cartons, pieces of trash, a small sewage grate, and other normal alley specific things, including the darkness hiding anything in there. Not like Colt had anything to fear that the darkness might conceal anyway.

He walked arrogantly, both of his hands in his pockets, kind of a long stride in his legs as he slowly approached the darkness ahead. As with most gang hideouts, there was probably some latched door somewhere with a small slit for a guy to look out of. A passcode to be said before being let in, with a whole army of gangsters there waiting in the off case an enemy to the "family" came in. he lazily kicked a small can lying in the middle of the alley, unaware it was even there, the rattling sound resonating between the close walls of the buildings and being a ferocious alarm to his presence there. He stood still for a moment, tensing the moment he'd have to grab his gun and get dirty, but he hadn't used a single bullet tonight, and didn't want to. Not to just find out information on his bounty, because he'd rather shoot the bullet _at_ the bounty, since he'd make profit off of that. Two shots or more...no profit margin there. He just used it as a blunt object for a while in his earlier dispute and some more methods.

Wasn't like he wanted to kill those teenagers, they just deserved it. They were in his way, and he gave them their chance to live, they didn't take it. They attacked him, and he killed them. He had no remorse for those he killed, since in one way or another, he saw that everyone had a pursuit of death in some way. Smartasses pursue it in their idiotic usage of words, big burly guys are asking to find one bigger to beat them, bitches who whine too much are just waiting to be shut up. And, he wasn't outside of the sphere of that "wanting of death" though he adhered too. Except his own personal motivation for death was more obscure, not that he didn't think about it a lot, it was common for his profession, but that he needed to find it first.

Scurries of feet and whispers found their way to resound cacophonously off the walls after thecan came to a rest, Colt smiling at the simplicity of things. It always happened, the way things were supposed to. **Without fear, you can look at things a lot more objectively and with more humor, since basically, whatever happens, doesn't matter to you. So, you can do stupid things and say what you want, because no repercussion will hit you, if you really have enough balls, especially Colt.** He walked forward again, his right hand trailing the side of the wall of the building, feeling cracks in the cement blocks and old grouting, the pressure of the scraper above already a strain on it, but the large steel and cement stations with gigantically thick metal wires outside on the streets made sure the buildings never toppled off of the backs of the lower level.

Finally, his hand found what it was looking for, the inwardly bevelled frame of a door, bolts and steel slats reinforcing it, with one small peep hole covered by a sheet of metal that seemed to peel back to reveal two beedy eyes searching around.

"Hiya" he said with a smirk, holding out his gun's barrel to rest in the small ectangle of space in the door. "Wanna let me in?" he asked nicely, with a bittersweet sarcasm underneath. The man's eyes peeled back to show fear, the small rectangle of face shown backing up from the door to review a broader view of the man's face and body, in his late twenties. _This fucker obviously graduated from street thug..._ Instantly, the man ducked and bolted to the side, calling out distinctly Italian names of friends and comrades.

"Well, damnit..." Colt sighed, holsteing his gun again. He didn't want to waste the bullet, but he wanted the door open anyway. _Time for Plan B. _He turned around, looking back at the beginning of the alley, with the light surrounded by moths, dumpster, and sewage cap. _Perfect_.

Within a few minutes, about twenty of the upper tier gang members had filed out of the one iron door, each with some rudimentary weapon in their hands, each of those weapons probably having been accountable for a death or more a piece. They were gruff, older than the rummaging street gangs, and more grizzled. You didn't graduate to be one of the respected members of a gang without having taken your licks, and you didn't get to be respected without growing older first, so you needed to start young, not die, and slowly, it all came.

"Hey, there!"the same man from the doorshouted, seeing the sewer cap at the end of the alley slightly ajar. "I bet that rat fduck son of a bitch went in there! Probably one of Sullivan's boys again...get in there and flush him out!" he said in charge, ordering the others around, who all rushed to the sewage cap, threw it aside, and started jumping into the vast sewage system underneath Troy. The gangsters all flowed one on top of another, nearly forgetting there was a ladder down, and just jumping down, the splashes of water telling that the one in front had landed, your turn. After the majority had jumped down, the man yelling the orders found a cold steel against the back of his head.

"Wrong move, buddy." a familiar voice said behind the man, who turned to see the same cowboy hat of the man earlier, and then blanked out as the butt of the pistol smashed his nose into a fractured mess, blood pouring out instantly. There were two of the other gangsters left above ground who turned, screaming the news to those below, but they never had a chance. Colt grabbed the now falling and limp body of the door man and threw it at the other two gangsters, knocking them backwards and one falling into the sewage hole, the limp body covering it over, like a cap. The last gangster got up off the ground from the knock he recieved from his knocked out comrade, and readied his lead pipe to attack Jeremy.

"Fine...must we do this?" he said, putting his gun back in holster and placing his hands on his hips to look at the man. And of course, they did. He rushed, his pipe above his head, and swung it downwards with a target of Jeremy's head. Only it never hit. Colt expertly sidestepped the blow, catching both of his enemies hands inthe crux of his elbow, then tugged him around by the one lock he had with his right on both of the man's upper limbs. The man was flung into a wall next to him, a bit of dust knocked offof the alley bricks, an echoing blast of the metallic pipe dropping, and instantly swinging for a boxing punch to Colt's nose, and again, failed, when he fell over, coughing out in spastic breaths from the knee that went forcefully in his gut.

Colt adjusted his collar for a moment, looking down at the coughing and wheezing man. _Probably collapsed his lungs. He'll be alright, maybe._ The screams and yells of the other men in the sewage pipe continued, while the body on top moved like a rag as the surge of hands tried to push him out of his nearly air-tight seal on the putrid place they were stuck in. Jeremy smirked that his plan worked perfectly, then entered the ajar steel door, closing it behind him.

A few thugs later, and a few loud bangs and broken doors, Colt rested his hand on the final doorknob. The men before, lying in breathless and bloody heaps behind him, from the small billiard room to the radio room (which had three sofas positioned around it), and a few other lounges for the gangsters to bide their time, he came to what they were all protecting. He slowly opened the door, seeing an old man sitting at an oak desk, hands folded on top of each other securely, and a set face of anticipation, but without fear.

'Hello Don Corisione" he said smugly, and took a step in, shutting the door behind him.

Zeronova's Notes:  
Well, there's the chapter. I kind of like the way it turned out, getting more character to Darton, and adding in a fun character, Oppem, who becomes very important in the future, let's not forget either adding in Don Corisione (added to Colt's appearance). Also, we get some more information on Bianca and Zimmerman. Zimmerman is kind of a stand in for the old story's Biondello, who is a useless character this time around (but there's still a bit of him lingering...just wait to see). Zimmerman fills the role, and also another part for the future of the story. But, we're heading up on 200k shortly...this story is gonna be so goddamn long.


	38. Arc 2: Information station

"And what do I owe the honor of this visit, Mr...?"

"Colt. Jeremy Colt." he said, the door echoing its locks clicking shut as he leaned back on the now securely closed door.

"...Mr. Colt." he finished. The man's demeanor was very calm, smoothed out, and relatively easy going. Colt knew as well as anyone else that gangsters were always up to no good, but they were always sweet and seductive. If just by their Italian nature of being suave, the man seemed to just be meeting a good friend he had heard much about, with a slight smile and no rudeness to be had. "Please, sit." he said, his hand sweeping to a chair in front of the oak desk, a crimson leather set on a polished oak frame, belonging to the same furniture set as the oak desk and the oak chair the Don sat in, despite his being much more fancy and elegant.

"I want some information."

"Of course, I have plenty of that." he said with a smile. "Bourbon? It's a local brew" Corisione said, reaching into a desk drawer to pull out a crystal ceramic jug of the orange liquid and two large glasses.

"Surely." Colt said with a smile, reaching forward to the now filled glass as the Don filled his. The quark was put back on, the bottle replaced to the desk drawer, and it shut. The entire atmosphere was something Colt knew well, his memories instantly aligning his thoughts with Marlon Brando. _It's been a long time since I've had to deal with one of these smug fuckers... _Colt downed half of the gracious glass of bourbon with a dozen or so aspirin, grinning in delight as the Don only gave a look of being impressed, and drank his by sips.

"Let's get down to business" Corisione said briefly, folding his hands again in front of him. "What's your question with me, Mr. Colt?"

"I want some information on a man named Quint Darton."

"Quint Darton...never heard of him. But, even if I did, why should I?" The Don asked with a smug smile, drinking another bit out of his cup. They both knew it wasn't the best bourbon, and neither said anything, but their held back puckered faces and tongues burning with the taste of a boot made their tongues a lot easier to hold, instead of saying something either would regret. But, as it stood, the Don had a lot more to lose.

"Because I just kicked the ass of your entire gang, and one of your street patrol kiddies. I'm not here to kill you, unless you piss me off. I only want to know where I can find the guy."

"I will admit you have quite a knack for being persuasive, as far as your fists go" the man said in a heavy Italian accent, slurring his own words on purpose to emulate figures of old he had heard about. Colt only smirked as he placed his pistol on the table, a _thunk_ emitting as it hit the oak, and he turned it slowly until the barrel faced the Don, who gave another facial expression of being impressed, but no fear crossed his face. If there was anything a gang leader needed, it was class. He could be violent and brutal and anything else he needed, but he had to have class. To hold the gang together, to get more gangs, to solve issues between gangs without going to war, and just to have that authority.

"I see you are a man of very interesting methods. But, I don't see why I should help you. You've come into my home, where I live with all of my brothers and family, and you've shown them no mercy. I do not know if you have killed them, but I am assuming not. Though, I do hope you gave Billy a good few licks, as he's been in need of it."

"I'm sure I did."

"But, back to my point, Mr. Colt. You've shown me some mercy and reserve, only because I am the Don, and forcing me to tell you would serve you no good."

"Well, it's Plan B if the talking doesn't work."

"Let's stick to Plan A then, Mr. Colt. I am in no mood to start a quarrel with a gentleman such as yourself, andI'm quite tired."

"You're smarter than your street thugs who chose Plan B." Colt chuckled, finishing off his tall glass of bourbon liquor, and sliding it across the desk. It was enough to sufficiently make anyone drunk, and especially too much to just be shot, so the Don was even more agitated by Jeremy, but didn't let it show. The Don stood up slowly, turning around and poking down the blinds over a few windows to look outside.

"You know, Mr. Colt, you've done something very stupid."

"Is that so?" he said mockingly, leaning back in the chair he sat in.

"I am the most respected and powerful gang boss on the Lower Side of Troy, and the other 4 gangs here have just become mine. I have enough contacts all over to make sure you don't see the sun rise, and I have enough friends to make sure that there wll be no evidence of you."

"Considering your pals back there..." Colt chuckled while he said half of his sentence, and no more.

"You're a very skilled man, and powerful. I can see that by way of which you entered my home." he said, turning to face Colt. Don Corisione wasn't too old, only about 34, but older than about anyone in his gang. Also, he hadn't many wrinkles to him that would be passable as signs of age, but he was indeed aged by the standards of normal life and other gangs. "I could use a man like you on my side. Wouldn't want you getting tangled up with the Tudeskis on the North side of town."

"I'm not a gang man."

"Please, we're a family here, Mr. Colt."

"...The family? And is there a Godfather also?"

"He recently passed away, sadly. I will be named the Godfather within a few short weeks, and it was a vicious attack by the Tudeskis. They killed him in cold blood. The other four families of the city are aligned with me, and all are under me now, except for the Tudeski family. And, I'm hoping to eliminate them very soon. I could use you in this operation, Mr. Colt."

"Sorry, I don't work for 'families" he said sarcastically.

"Have it your way, Mr. Colt. I assure you though that my men will find you, and they will be most unpleasant with you."

"You can send all you have against me, and it won't matter. Maybe I'll kill them though. I've only actually killed maybe three or four of your men tonight, I could do more. ANd, maybe help the Tudeskis, if they're willing to give me the information I need."

"Mr. Colt, we're reasonable men here." He said, slowly walking around the table to Colt and standing behind his chair, resting both of his hands on Colt's shoulders like a friend would. "We can work something out, can't we? We needn't involve the Tudeskis now."

"I thought so" Colt sneered at the threat rebuked now to a mere pleasantry thrown at him earlier.

"But...what am I to gain?"

"Hmm, me not going to the Tudeskis is one."

"I already know that, do I have any other advantages?"

"I'll make you an offer you can't refuse. I let you live."

"Mr. Colt, if you killed me, even the Tudeskis would be out for your blood. There is a very delicate balance in this sytem...the gangs need to be balanced, and we live harmoniously with each other really. Just, sometimes, things get out of hand, and drastic measures are taken. What is bothersome to me is that you have shown no respect to me at all, Mr. Colt, when I will help you."

"If you help me."

"So, this Quint Darton...he's a bounty?"

"2,000 big ones."

"Hmm...what if we split it, fifty-fifty?"

"Ninety-ten."

"Seventy five-twenty five?"

"Ninety-ten. And, I'll give some hell to the Tudeski familyif I meet any of 'em."

"You drive a hard bargain, Mr. Colt, but I'll see what my men can get together. Come see me tomorrow night, and we'll conclude our business." Corisione then walked back around to in front of his desk, sat down in his chair, and turned aroud to face the windows covered in blinds. "You may go now, Mr. Colt."

"Thanks for the shit bourbon" he said with a snicker, adjusting his black cowboy hatslightly, then picking up his gun, holstering it, and walking out of the room. Colt found his way out from the entrance in the alley he had made his way in through earlier, passing the bruised and bloody patrons of this establishment,a few on their feet, hobbling around, getting ice, sewing wounds, others sneering at Colt and trying to grab him, each of the dazed men reciprocated with their actions in turn with a quick jab that broke stitched wounds open again. Colt finally made his way out to the brisk night, adjusting his collar on his darkened Seikishidan overcoat, nearly black, and then walking out into the night. _That went pretty well._

* * *

"Morning Billy" Colt smirked as the slit of the door opened to show the door man from the scuffle a few nights past, a bulging black eye covered in an ice pack and a fat lip greeting him through the peep hole. The man muttered a few curses, slowly unlatching the locks on the door with loud _clanks_ before it swung open and Colt stepped into the Corisione hideout. He took off his cowboy hat, exposing a ruffled head of black hair, not looking a day over twenty five on his youthful, but jaded face. He smiled at Billy who only sneered, tilting his head over to where the Don's room was, his left arm in a sling and wincing as he turned to nod.

Colt had his hat in his hand during his walk through the rooms he had violently bashed through a few nights ago, the pol table had been righted and all the balls found, the blood stains in the carpet still there, but had been tried washed, and a lowly gang member in the far corner, a scrub brush in his hand and working on the wall where streak of blood was. _That's where I threw that one rat fuck face first into the wall...broke his nose. Sorry kid, you gotta clean up my mess. But, hell, not even Vito started on top._ Sneers and disgusted curses met him as he walked through the room of "family" members, each stopping their activities and staring at the man in the rmidst as he walked thrugh with an arrogant smirk, looking all of them in the eye, showing no fear.

The bustle and commotion of the base of operations seemed to stagnate and die when Colt entered, the bitter memories of their ass-kicking the few days prior still fresh in their memories, and tempers not subsided. Jeremy slowly paced thrugh the people, taking his time and making sure to be as arrogant as he could without saying anything, a murmured insult thrown at him every now and then, someone spitting on the ground in front of Jeremy and trying to instigate something out of Jeremy, but their broken bones and bruises all Colt needed to prove, if it came down to it. Finally, he stopped in front of the oak door he knew to be Corisione's, knocking a few times, turning back to the crowd of square Italian faces on square Italian shoulders looking back at him silently.

"Come in" the voice responded. Colt slowly entered, holding out his hat in a sarcastic adieu to the family all gathered outside of the Don's office to wtahc him. As Colt entered, a stout and round man left the room quickly, pushing past him and jogging through the crowd of mobsters who let him through.

"That was...?" Colt asked briefly.

"A baker who wanted a favor I could not grant. We found a solution though."

"Sounds fiesty." he smirked, sitting down and tossing his hat on the oak desk in front of the Don.

"I think I have your information, Mr. Colt."

"I'd love to know it."

"Bourbon?" he asked, pulling out the bottle, at the same line it was last time Colt took a drink. He nodded, taking a glass poured for him, and downed half of it in one shot with half of an aspirin bottle he found in the pocket of his coat.

"Why do you do that, Mr. Colt? It's no good for your kidney."

"It's for my headaches. If my headaches get too bad...I give you a headache. One that will probably never go away, or be too quick. Get me?"

"Hmm...headaches. If that's what you're going to call it."

"Yeah...don't worry 'bout it...you were talking about information?"

"Yes...this Quint Darton, he's on the East side of the city. He's slumming it with some girl near the Division C kiosk district."

"I know there. Near Zimmerman's coffee shop."

"Best cup of coffee in Lower Troy. That man is a personal friend, he's done some favors for me, and I for him."

"And those are?"

"He had a small girl about fifteen years ago...she was without home or shelter. He asked me to help him find a place for the girl, and I took out some low lives who were holed up in this apartment, draining money from my operations, and gave it to him. And, he's done some business with me, some business he'd not like to talk about."

"I'm sure. Plenty of drugs running around here anyway."

"But, we're all business men, Mr. Colt. It's not personal, it's business."

"Of course." Colt said with a sly smirk, downing the rest of the bourbon and sliding the glass back to Corisione, as they did the few nights prior.

"Let me tell you a story, Mr. Colt. You seem like a well travelled man and have seen your fair share of the world. You were a 'Kishi'."

"You noticed it, eh?" he smirked, looking down at his blackened jacket. "Years took the gloss and white off of it, but it's my faithful that kept me alive in Kansas."

"A-Country front. I'm impressed. I have a few clients over seas...something I'm hoping to maximize in the near future."

"What's your story then, Corisione?"

"You see...this city, it's holding me in. I'm feeling choked, like a cornered mouse. I need room to breath, room to expand. I've already taken over this city...it's not been easy, but the families now belong to me. I am the man who is in charge. But, I am not going to stop there. Once this war is over, or when I get out of here...I'm going to France. I'm planning on uniting myself with some of the French families...get my business overseas a bit boosted, you know, business."

"To become the quintessential Godfather?"

"Please, do not compare me to stories. I am a realistic man. By the time I am in Paris, I will have succeeded the title of Godfather, my family will stretch the ports and coasts, as well as the skies. I have big plans, Mr. Colt. I could still use you in the future, if you were interested."

"Afraid I'm still fucking not."

"It's a shame. I have a feeling that next time our paths cross, we will have a different type of conversation and friendship."

"Don't flatter me, you Italian mobster prick. I just want my information." Corisione conceded, reaching for a small folder in a drawer of his disk, sliding it across the desk.

"Will that be all for you, Mr. Colt?" he said, keeping his temper in check and his mannerisms perfect the entire time, never wavering above a friendly tone, and never being cold in how he talked, except for the fake drawl he put on his words.

"Seems like it." he said, fingering the pages, finding the information inside was what he expected. "Till next time, Corisione." he said, standing, putting his hat on and tucking the folder under his arm.

"What about my ten?" he said to Colt before his hand reached the knob. JEremy turned, smirking as he replied.

"What about your ten?" he mlaiciously said, then opened the door and exitted.

"You will not be so fortunate on our next meeting, Mr. Colt." Corisione said, turning in his chair and looking out at the streets of Troy behind him as the morning sun rose slightly.

* * *

The familiar bell of the shop rang with the door opening, the small string doing its job of pulling on the central metal ball to ding the sides. Zimmerman looked up from his perch on the bar, a glass in hand, rag in the other, like it was his God given job to always be scrubbing those mugs with that same cloth.

"Zimmerman, right?" the man said in a low cowboy hat drawn over his eyes. He was standing slightly in front of the door, still and in place, like he was rooted to the ground.

"Yeah, I'm Zimmerman, this is my place." the short, rotuned shopkeeper responded, showing eary eyes to the new face in the place, but in actuallity, his face was covered by the sunlight draining in behind him and through the door, through the heads and bustling bodies outside.

"Took me all day to get my ass over here, then I stuck it out the night. I hear you got the best cup of coffee around here."

"I ain't gonna toot my horn, but the locals call it that. Up for one?"

"Yeah." the man said gruffly, taking off his cowboy hat to reveal a gruff lookinghead of bushy brown hair and long sideburns that hadn't seen a razor or comb in a long time. Zimmerman prepared the glass in the cup he was just holding, so the man knew it was clean, but its not like it mattered anyway if it were clean or not. **People had amazing immune system now a days, since the whole medicine scene had kind of got killed by ack and the ability to not get it everywhere, people started to get over things that had been neutralized in past centuries and become nothing much were still nothing. Animals have great immune systems as well, and humans had to start adapting, or they'd too fall prey to nature, so they became stronger. Yet, things tha were considered pushovers in past centuries were now highly feared, like the flu. No use for cancer or diseae, you usually didn't live long enough for it.**

The cup wa set in front of the man, who put a bottle of aspirin on the counter as he walked over and sat down. The cap came off, and a dozen pills went down his throat, along with half of the unsweetened, uncremed coffee in one gulp. He seemed immune to the scalding hot coffee, and only muttered a satisfied "mmm".

"Got any business here or just here for the coffee?" Zimmerman asked, grabbing another cup and starting his ritual. He downed the second half, putting the empty cup down, another "mmm", then nodding.

"Yeah, I do. My business is a bounty. Name's..." he was cut off by the jingle of a bell and the door opening to the shop. Quint Darton walked in, brushing the dirt off of his shirt from the crowd, ruffing his long brown bangs a bit before walking to the counter where Zimmerman was, sitting down next to the stranger. He raised one finger, and nodded, Zimmerman sneering and getting to making another cup of coffee with his newly picked up cup.

"My business is a bounty named Quint Darton." There was a slight cough from Zimmerman as Jeremy Colt finished his sentence, the words invading his ears seeming to choke him momentarily. Zimmerman's back was turned, making the coffee, but there was a slight smirk on his face, the evil wonder in his head of what would happen to his favorite little friend. Darton, on the other hand, hadn't flinched a muscle. When he heard his name, he blinked once, but he hoped that this bounty hunter hadn't seen him flinch. The cup arrived and Darton sipped at it slightly, muttering a curse at how hot it was.

Zimmerman held out his hand to Darton, expecting his few coins and bills for the coffee, as per normal, but a slight sneer and forcefulness intoxicated his entire being, that Zimmerman felt if he didn't get his pay now, he might never. Darton handed him the money reluctantly, holding it above Zimmerman's hand for a second before dropping it into the fat hand, looking all the while in Zimmerman' eyes unblinkingly. Without words, they talked. Don't you dare say anything, Zimmerman. Don't make me, Darton.

"Bounty, eh?" Darton said, turning to Colt, cup of coffee in his hand sipping it slowly, his expression and demeanor instantly reverting to normal man on the streets. Colt hadn't noticed, he was too busy taking more aspiin, his head tilted back while the silent exchange between his two fellow people in present company had their talk in looks. Jeremy swallowed hard, bringin his head back down, looking at Darton.

"It's somebounty that the big shots of Troy are handing out. They say he's a spy or something. It's not like those normal jobs, where one bitch has something against another, and the one with more money wins because he can pay for the other to die. Nah...this one's special, and a special price to go along with it."

"Sounds interesting, any more details?" Quint continued, looking Colt the entire time in the eyes without flinching.

"Like hell I'd tell you anything about my bounty. It's mine, you ain't taking it from me."

"Who says I'm a hunter?"

"Everyone 'round here is, and if I see you around that bounty, you might find the same fate."

"Back off, cowboy. I was just asking." Darton said with a sneer turning back to Zimmerman with a look of contempt in his eyes that he dare not show to Jeremy. But, he saw. There was something weird about it, not when Darton had tried talking to Colt, but when he turned away and looked at Zimmerman...there was a flash. A moment later, a gun muzzle rested on the neck of Darton. _Shit...he found me. Shit, I'm not armed, what do I do, stay calm, shit. _Zimmerman snickered a little under his breath as he grsbbed another mug and started cleaning it, one eye fixed at the events at the bar.

"What do you know about this Darton guy?" he asked fiercely. "I've already gone through a mob boss to get here, you're not gonna matter either. Tell me what you know." Colt insisted.

Darton set down his mug of coffee, and turned in the stool to Colt with a slight smirk on his face.

"...That's all you want?" Darton said, his smirk intact, concealing his confusion. _Wait...he doesn't know I'm Darton? That's good, real good._

"Well, what ya got to tell me, stranger?"

"He lives around here, partner." he respodned with equal sarcasm, the gun barrel now on the center of his neck, right below his Adam's Apple. "You must be a slick shit killer to have one of those puppies."

"I'm all slick shit, kid."

"Kid? You don't look any older than I do."

"Hey, I got the gun, you answer the questions. Not a tough ordeal."

"I'm not worth the bullet."

"The bounties big enough, I could spare two bullets. One for you, one for Darton."

"How big?"

"2000 big."

"That's big."

"Told ya. Now, you tell me. Where do I find him?"

"He's around." Jeremy cocked back the hammer on his antique six shooter, a slight smirk on his face as he did.

"Wanna be cute with me and you'll be drinking coffee without a neck."

"He ain't got a house. He lives in the alleys around here."

"Bounty said he was slumming with a girl."

"Not that I've seen."

"You sure?"

"Would I lie with a gun to my throat and a bounty big enough that my life didn't matter?"

"Probably not, but you Troy pieces of shit lie a lot."

"Good thing I'm not from Troy."

"...What?"

"I'm not from Troy."

"Bounty said the guy was an ex-Seikishidan, just got here."

_Shit...I didn't know that. Oh crap, he might know its me now. Crap, think...THINK! Quicker! Be calm, play it cool..._

"I was born in Dresden back when it was 3, moved here when I ws 8 with my family. They're all dead now, but I hang around."

"...You're lying."

"Would I lie with a"

"Yeah, a gun to your neck and shit."

"I'm not Seikishidan. Those Seikishidan bastards can go to hell for all I care."

"Seems like we got a common enemy, kid." Colt snickered. He released the hammer of the gun back to its resting position, removing the pistol from his neck and holstering it again. "Name's Jeremy Colt." he said, extending his hand to shake Darton's. Darton looked at him tentatively, the gun now removed, but the cold steel feeling still lingring on his throat. He hesitantly shook Colt's hand, half expecting to have that gun back out or get punched, but it never came.

"Jeremy Colt, eh?" Darton said, remaining calm and cool, very collected and playing the part. _As long as he doesn't know I'm Darton, I'm good._

"What's your name?"

"My name?"

"That's what I asked."

"..." Quint stuttered, looking down at the counter for a moment. _Think quick! _"Biondello."

"Biondello?"

"Yeah, people call me Bion round here."

"Weird name."

"Colt's not much better, little horsey."

"I've still got my gun, y'know."

"Yeah, yeah...another." Quint said, leaning over the counter now, looking to Zimmerman, who had a slight twinge of disbelief in his eye and a sneer in his throat that was choked to come out by the icy cold glance of Darton. Lucky for Darton that Colt was on his left, because he could feel a slight drip of sweat on his right side, near his ear, out of nervousness and fear, but he had held his composure and self through out the entire ordeal. The cup of coffee slid in front of him, the black inside slightly spilling over the edge. "That's gonna cost you a tip." Zimmerman only grabbed the now empty cup, dipped it into a sudsy pool of water, and started wiping it clean with his cloth in hand.

"What's your beef with the Seikishidan?" Darton finally asked. Colt chuckled, leaning back in his chair, arms above his head.

"My beef? Let's just say they got me killed a couple times, and I got angry."

"I know what you mean." Jeremy looked over at Darton, then Darton remembered instantly. "Well, I would if I were ever part of it. Fuckers always get killed. Thinking sometimes, Troy is the only safe place on Earth."

"Amen to that." Colt said, thinking back on his days, finishing off another bottle of aspirin.

"Got a headache?" Darton observed.

"Always do."

"From the Seikishidan?"

"A little bit of everything."

"Right."

"Listen...I'm gonna go find that bounty. I'll be back here tomorrow, same time. You give me some information on where this Darton is, any new, good information, I'll cut you in for a hundred." Colt said looking over to Darton. "Got me, Bion?"

"Yeah, I'll see what I can dig up for a hundred."

"Good boy." Colt vituperated, standing up, leaving a few bills on the counter and walking out, the familiar jingle of the bell signifying his leace, and the invading sound of the crowd bursting in on the door opening and deafening on its shut.

"You're a lucky son of a bitch" Zimmerman said. Darton leaned over the coutner, gasping for breath and his head in his hands, rubbing his face.

"Holy shit..." he muttered.

"You're out of your league, Darton. Don't fuck this up." He finally resolved composure, looking back up at Zimmerman, his left hand running down the side of his face.

"I just played my way out of that one. He won't find me now, he thinks I'm Bion."

"That won't last for long."

"Then I'll just have to come armed tomorrow in case I need to deal with him."

"Remember, you hurt Bianca..."

"She'll be more hurt if I die, so don't be picking his side." Darton said angrily, throwing the allotted money on the counter and leaving also. Zimmerman collected his pay, grabbing cups and dunking them into the soapy water before counting the money and realizing that Colt had stiffed him.

Zeronova's Notes:  
So...here we are at a pretty dramatic chapter. I really liked the whole Darton-Colt scene, where Darton had to be slick to not tell Colt that's who he was and act the part of not being him, a tense moment, not to mention a nod to the name Biondello from the original DG (and Taming of the Shrew). Also, I didn't have any Ky in this chapter, all Colt and Darton. It may feel like a lot all at once, but it had to be put there, in plus, I think it worked out well. Not much happening with Ky anyway, might as well have the side with events take centerfold. Next Monday, you know what you get.


	39. Arc 2: Mmm gravy

"Doesn't that ever annoy you?" Quint asked slowly.

"What?" Bianca responded, looking up at him. They were both lying in her room in her bed, Bianca close to Darton, his arm around her, other propping his head up.

"The sun. It's like every morning, it comes to get me, to just annoy me and wake me up and shit." He raised his hand not holding him up and gave the ifnger to to where the sun was filtering in through the familiar window, the light arcing through the main room and seeming to come through her doorway to sit on Darton once again.

"Oh please. It's the sun."

"Yeah, I know." Suddenly, a knock hit the door three times. A solid, equally spaced out bang-bang-bang. "The hell could that be?"

"I dunno...go get it." Bianca said sleepily, rolling over and securing the covers tighter. He smiled slightly, his hand running over her arm slightly, then getting out of the bed. A few articles of clothing later, and a splash of water from the bathroom sink and he went to the door, stretching out, and putting a shirt on over his chest. He slowly undid the locks, removing the chain, turning the circular lock, and finally the handle, yawning as he did so. As soon as his hand touched the knob, the door shot at him, knocking his left arm into his body and him back onto the ground, the swivels on the door crying as the door smashed into the wall that the swiels allowed it, but without pulling a few screws out of the securing swivels.

"Hi Quint." Colt said, standing in the door way, putting his foot back down and holding his gun straight at Quint, who quicklylooked up at the door as soon as he landed. 'Tried to fool me in Zimmerman's, well...ain't gonna fucking work on me, kiddo."

"What was that?" Bianca's voice echoed out of the bedroom and into the hall. "Found your girl too." he smiled, pulling back the hammer on the gun. "I'll do it before she gets here, she won't want to see it."

"Like hell." Quint muttered, smirking.

"'Scuse me?"

"Like hell!" Quint shouted. From where he was laying, his right foot was against the wall where the door had swivelled into. Rolling to his right, and using his right foot as a kick point, he threw the door back towards its frame and at Colt. Jeremy was hesitant to shoot the bullet, not to waste the money, and the door caught him by surprise, knocked back by the wooden door that smashed him in the face, bending his hat a little. Quint, jumping up from the kick of the door and being quick, ran to the oposite side of the small apartment to the corner under the window where a friend resided.

The second kick on the door threw it off of its hinges, falling back in front of the bedroom door, the ripped screws and hinges clanking to silence on the ground around it. Colt stepped in, holding a slightly bloody nose, adjusting the brim of his hat with his left hand and right holding the pistol, aimed over at Darton, who now had his sword poised in attack position.

"You're too far from me, and I got the projectile weapon. You really want to fight me?" Colt mused, rubbing the last bits of blood from his nostrils.

"You're here to kill me, so why should I just hand myself to you?"

"I've had a couple of dumbasses do that, but hey, your funeral, buddy. Cater it how you like."

"Quint!" the second scream of Bianca came, a shirt settling over her head as she ljumped out of the bedroom doorway. Colt looked over at the sudden scream for a moment, startled for a moment. _Bingo._ Qint slashed once with his sword horizontally, the air wisping at the blade cutting through it, Colt's gaze returning to Darton a moment later. The delay of the sword let Colt have long enough to pull the trigger before the blast of wind knocked him backward into the wall, his head racking up against the exposed panelling.

Darton was thrown back for a moment by the impact of a bullet, but not feeling the pain due to being in the moment. Adrenaline had not found its way to his veins in a long time, it had packed up and moved on, sold its plot of land on him, and moved to the suburbs. New land margins brought it back in full force, rennovating and making house in only a mere few moments, and his adrenaline was back again, instantly welling a feeling of fight and survival that he hadn't felt since Paris.

He ran forward, tackling Jeremy, Colt's ehad smashing against the back wall again as the mass of the man compacted into his gut. He coughed slightly at the impact, Darton stepping back to make a killing slash or stab. But, he hadn't the chance, as a quick jab from the bounty hunter hit Darton squarely in the face, his left foot stepping back instinctively for balance. Jeremy's other hand grabbed for the quickly swung blade at his head,and Darton's wrist being punched hard enough to induce him dropping the blade. Colt smirked at the moment of advantage he had, bringing the gun up again for a second shot, but found an equal retort as Darton grabbed the wrist with both of his hand, and smashed his fist into the wall behind Colt, the gun jumbling out of the stunned grip.

Darton jumped down for the gun, as did Jeremy, both men fumbling for it as it went further out of reach, then turning into a rolling, wrestling scuffle. Darton appeared on top, volleying punch after punch at the pinned Colt, who then rolled Darton back over and did the same.

_Shit! Bianca, do something1 Help him! Don't stand here, girl! _Bianca had stood on the sideline, the door frame during the entire incident, the lingering booming echo of the gunfire still fresh in her mind, inhibiting her to move, but life flowed to her veins as she stepped out, picking up the mistake sword of Darton's. She approached Colt from behind, his entire upper body above Darton's and throwing punch after punch at Darton who had his back on the ground, trying to fend off the blows. She let out a feminine yell of anger and spite, swinging the heavy sword, and missing Jeremy. He turned to see her yell, smiling at her miss.

"You missed, bitch."

"No,she didn't" Darton said underneath of him. Not a moment later, a gust of wind, seemingly created from the threads of nothing, like a wind that blew solely of every other wind, something that had nothing else to go with it except for the single gust it was, a desolate gale, blew Colt off of Darton. The bounty hunter hit the wall, leaving a few cracks in the old wallpaper, bits of the decaying paper falling off into dust as the wall shook violently. Jeremy grunted, standing up, a wobbly step and grabbing his head at an oncoming headache.

"My aspirin..." he muttered slightly, but Darton was already up and attacking him, throwing whatever punches and kicks he could muster in a fierce volley of attacks, Bianca standing behind on the wall, wide eyed and watching. She wasn't a fighter, this had all came instantly too her, she was thrown into something she had no idea what to do, and was scared. Scared of the fight, scared of losing Darton, scared of the moment, scared of everything.

Jeremy defended each blow as best he could, a punch hitting him in the kidneys with ferocity and a thunderous howl of pain, him swinging back in horrible attempt, his blistering headache keeping him from focusing too hard. Darton was gaining the upper hand, his enemy pinned against the wall and on the defensive as he threw punch after punch at the intruding bounty hunter.

"Get offa me!" he heard Jeremy yell, a slight twinge of a beast in his voice, something inhuman. And suddenly, he burst free, blocking a punch with force Darton didn't think he possessed, Colt's forearm flinging away Darton's like paper, and Jeremy' other hand landing a square punch on Darton's ribcage. Darton fel backwards, coughing, a little bit of blood in his cough from the punches he had recieved in his mouth. He scrambled to his feet, his sword lying at Bianca's feet as she sat in the corner, her legs grabbed and watching with wide eyes and an open mouth, unable to speak. Jeremy grabbed a bottle from his trench coat, ripped the top off and throwing a handful of aspirin into his mouth, chewing them up and swallowing them without care, then dove for his gun. Darton jumped after him, sword in his right hand.

As soon as he got the gun, he turned back to Darton, who was on top of him now. The cold steel of a blade rested on Colt's neck, but the cold steel of a barrel rested on Darton's chest. Quint was sitting above Jeremy, straddling him as Jeremy was lying on his back, his gun on the middle of Darotn's sternum while Darton's blade was held by both palms on his neck.

Both mean breathed heavy, not talking, looking into each other's eyes, tying to detect their next action or move. Jeremy not wanting to pull the trigger because it wasn't an instant kill, Darton would be able to push on or slump over his blade, and that'd be bad for his neck. Darton not wanting to push his blade deeper into the soft flesh of Colt because he couldn't do it fast enough that Jeremy wouldn't be able to pull that trigger.

"What now?" Darton said in wide open gasps, sweat starting to bead off of his head and onto his hair.

"Good question" Jeremy said, his cowboy hat intact the entire time, never leaving his head. They both sat tentatively, catching their breaths, the tension running high and neither flinching a muscle, waiting for the other to act.

"You stop hunting me, and I won't kill you."

"You let me kill you, I won't harm your girl."

"You can't harm her if you're dead."

"You can't protect her if you're dead." They both had equal answers and vituperations for each other, and seemed to writhe in their fear and anger.

"If I let go of this blade, will you kill me?"

"Yes."

"Not much incentive for me to now."

"If I put my gun away, will you cut my throat?"

"Yes."

"Quite a predicament." he said with a smirk, his large gapinggasps turning to shallow exhaustion breaths.

"I'll let go my sword on the count of three if you let go your gun. Deal?"

"One." Jeremy said, as if it were a yes.

"Two." Quint said slowly, the three not coming when it should have come in a second-by-second fashion. They both looked into each other's unblinking eyes, trying to see each other's reactions.

"...Three." Jeremy finally said a few moments later, the click of his gun going onto safety. Quint's eyes searched back and forth on Colt's expression, finally his blade rising off of the man's throat, a small red line of blood where the skin had been slightly cut left. Darton stood up slowly, the tip of his blade at Jeremy at all times, and Jeremy's pistol aimed at Darton. Despite the safety being on, he could turn it off and fire three rounds before Darton could blink. They both were standing now, looking at each other.

"Get out and don't ever come back." Darton said slowly, walking backwards to Bianca, never taking his eyes off of Colt.

"You're quite the bounty, my friend. No one's ever got away from me. I don't want to start now."

"You shot me once" he said, the small hole in his left hip showing the wound, "and you'll need more than one shot to drop me. That's too much money. Leave now. I'll not bother you, you don't bother me."

"We still have the problem about the money, kid."

"Take my jacket. Show that to the bounty office, and they'll know I'm dead. It's in the closet behind you." Darotn said, his trained eye still on Colt and the tip of his blade pointed at his heart. Colt didn't remove eye sight either, his left hand probing the contents of the closet blindly until it touched familiar fabric. He pulled out the green Seikishidan private coat, looking it over for a second.

"Pretty new. Only a private with those fighting skills?"

"Yeah, I was kind of pissed about that part too." Quint said with a smirk.

"Don't let your name ever surface again, because then they'll come asking for the bounty back if you're still alive. Be lucky kid, you're the first I've let go, and you _will_ be the last." Colt said before holstering his gun. He put the Seikishidan coat under his arm, turned to the open (and doorless) doorway, spit out a glob of blood on the apartment floor and walked out. Darton's breaths turned into a sigh, and he dropped his sword and fell to his knees.

"Darton!" Bianca screamed, jumping at him, beofre he fell backwards, unconscious of blood loss and adrenaline finding the real estate poor, moving back out to the suburbs and away from Darton.

* * *

To Ky, the peace seemed intoxicating. Every breath, moment, minute, feeling, day, week seemed like a pronounced calm before the storm. Peace he had never been a part of, constant fighting and having to relocate was a modern thing. As a child, he was in the Seikishidan training programs since he could remember, and nearly monthly they'd pack up on an MT, and move base, since their positions were compromised, running along with the Seikishidan groups he was assigned to. He had never gotten used to peace, and he had never needed to, it wasn't in mind or in vocabulary untilrecently, when he was elected, by Kliff, to lead the Seikishidan. If he hadn't any other intention but peace, as the four leaders before him, he was not suited for the job. And, despite his internal strife with such peace, he had to war and fight for a cause he knew nothing of.

The jolted memories and internal conflict of peace though was booted aside by the feel of a hand on his shoulder, breaking the glazed look off of his eyes and the distant feeling inside of him. He had been staring inot the embers for a bit, and had to blink a few times, looking to his left where the hand was on his shoulder. The red laced gauntlets lead up to an arm, attached to Jaygus, who sat down next to Ky, steadying his descent with his hand on Ky, also in a friendly gesture.

"Thinking again, Mr. Kiske?"

"I'm doing it a lot lately."

"It's not a bad hobby."Jaygus reaffirmed.

"True, I know it isn't...but I'm not used to it, or this."

"Neither am I...I grew up in Germany during the Krieg, there's nothing I fear more than peace."

"At least we're on the same page, Jaygus." Ky sighed, putting both hands behind his back, and just looking out at the scene.

Every night there was a bonfire in the center of the town. It seemed to just be a thing that happened, no one ever started it, and there was no designation, but it always happened. A lot of the folks of town came, just to be a part of it. Kids ran around in circles around the fire, playing tag and poking at the embers with sticks, laughing in high pitched voices, compltely oblivious to anything except what they were doing at that moment. Parents sat around, on the skeletons of buildings and rubble laid out, watching the children, laughing, telling jokes, talking. Soldiers weren't absent either, being part of the fun.

Across from the center of the town, a small building which hadn't suffered too much damage was thrown back in shape with the efforts of fifteen soldiers in one day, and turned into a saloon. The bar tender from Bordeaux had hitched a ride over, being a soldier himself, and going under the pretense of relocation, but he came because a lot of his customers and friends had moved to Lyon, and he set up shop there. He was a soldier by name and occupation, but he was always behind that counter, serving up the homemade brews. And, the inside was a cacophony of laughs, jeers, and hoots from the soldiers inside, ones going in, others coming out, going in walking straight up, leaving stubmling, all the while not caring, having fun, smiiling.

Another thing the soldiers found was the A.A.'s, who weren't at shortage on the nightly event of the burning of random items found throughout the city. A few soldiers would be seen leaving the center of the orangey light to go out to where ever else, a woman in hand, and not be seen again until morning. Amongst the scene of what could be classified as human normallity wafted the silhouette of Oppem, rushing behind everyone, clipbard in hand, taking notes on the happenings, most likely malignant, and the small beady eyes set in rolls of cellulose milling over the "scene of Bacchial ignorane", in U.N. words.

Ky wasn't especially taken out for the occasion, and was generally just seen as another face in the crowd, and not singled out. Occasionally, a person would come up to him, shake his hand, or a soldier would give him an authoritative salute or nod, him returning it in favor. He never indulged in the festivities though, for professionality and choice, since it wasn't his forte. Not to be mistaken for pure foolishness, there were shifts of soldiers who had to take to the patrols around the darkened city, watching borders and making sure there was still perimeter security, despite the innards of the city being relatively (and uncharacteristically) joyful.

"Just think of how big the bon fire will be when the word spreads you kill Justice" Jaygus whispered with a chuckle to Kiske. Ky looked over at him, puzzled at first then looked backout at the fire. THe languid smoke wafting off of the orange glow seemed to carry the essence of its fiery orignator deep into the sky, setting an orange and gray hue amongst the dark blue midnight sky, littered with diamonds.

"I may be dead by then, who knows. It's been a hundred years of trying, what's to say I got the end for it?"

"Well, there's gotta be sometime to end it, and either we lose, or they do. And, from what I've seen from you, sir, we're not going to be on the losing end for much longer."

"I hope so too, Jaygus, I hope so too...only God knows."

"My friend, sometimes God doesn't choose." Ky looked over at Jaygus questioningly, not knowing whether to question or laugh at his effrontery to God. "Do not mistake me, God is powerful and indeed, He is to be feared...but I sometimes believe He is not truly controlling. He left us here to make our own decisions, and whether we damn ourselves or not, He'll watch us and guide us. But, our decisions, what _we_ do...is sometimes the true test, to keep ourselves in salvation and not damnation, and to keep those who cannot shield themselves from evil out of damnation by our own cloaks of valor. We fight this war with our own, and God may be there with us, but we will have to win this war, God will not for us."

"...It's possible. As for God, I swear by Him everyday and night...he is my Lord and Savior, but I do not know if He is my friend sometimes."

"Well, I will always be for you, sir." Jaygus said with a comforting paternal smile he was good at giving, like oe he picked up from being a direct friend of Undersn, another master of that smile. "As for me, I'm going to go retire for the night...who knows what tomorrow may bring."

"Indeed, Jaygus. Good night." The sergeant stood, looking around at the bonfire once more, nodding to Ky, and then disappearing between alley ways and to where ever he found residence in the vacant city. Kiske sighed again, leaning back on his perch of rubble on which he sat, looking up at the orange tinted sky, deep in thought. SLowly, sleep took him over, the lingering sounds of life around him and the cracking embers lulling him to a sleep of unfmailiar peace, in no bed or embrace of God, not from battle exhaustion or blood loss, but simple relaxed timidness.

* * *

_Ah...humans. I can smell them, the light filtering thrugh the bones of the city, the bright hue...it's probably fire and orange, but all I see is in red. No matter...it helps me see the real goal, the humans. I hear you, Siren..the voice, I know what to do, be calm._

Testament stood on the low rolling hills of lower France, a slight humidity lingering and a light gust. **Light is a pretty good word to just describe France. No real weather spikes, no real big topography, nothing but a light moderation of everything.** His boots, Seikishidan issue, but worn with years of age and decay, trampled on top of a few weeds and flowers, twisting them under his feet as the trampling of other feet approached behind him in sync, then stopped short all at the same time, husky breaths in and out all at the same time echoing in the midnight resonance.

_Ah...finally here. I see you now, Lyon. And you...Ky Kiske, you better be here. I have something to settle with you...and my friends here will take care of your friends. Formations A and K spread out to flank the back side of the city, move quickly and quietly, at a speed of 12 miles per hour, no more than 3 decibles of sound a piece. Form at least a circle to enclose the city...notify me when they're all in position, Siren._

"Don't let me down now, Kiske. I'm coming for you...and your fucking fitlh race." Testament smiled through his black hair, hanging down to his mid chest, covering his face and a lot of his extremities, torn and weathered black shards of an old Seikishidan uniform, looking like a filth ridden rag, blackened by the elements, and hanging from his pale skinned body, showing off pieces of skin underneath the hanging uniform, like it was a secondary layer of rotten skin. His blod red eyes shone behind the hair though...they were never turned off, like constant bulbs, illuminated with hate, fury, and lust of blood, that no amount of blood could suffice for.

* * *

"Shit shit shit...I hate this shift. Always gotta have my perimeter duty on Tuesdays...why Tuesdays? Martha's always open on Tuesdays...she told me that. She doesn't have duty on Tuesdays, and I do. Now, I'm out her in the middle of fucking no where, watching goddamn nothing in the goddamn dark...shit." The soldier paced back and forth, his right hand resting on the hilt of his sheathed Seikishidan sword, whistling lightly, before finally finding a block of roof, probably belonging the the building behind it, and sat down. He put his head in his hand and his elbow on his knee, leaning forward.

His eyes searched the horizon, nothing there...looked to the sides, saw nothing but suffocating darkness. He yawned, stretching out and standing up again.

"Thanks God for coffee..." he mumbled, picking up a small stone, feeling its texture in his hands and throwing it out into the darkness. He could feel in his steps were the edge of the city was, the ends of the buildings seen thrugh the moonlight, but the paved road ending abruptly, the clods of dirt and grass rooting thrugh the edges of the old tar and bringing nature to the manifested human influence.

Suddenly, he heard a slight sound. He turned his head to the direction of the sound, from the inside of an abandoned house, its walls deteriorated, two stories high, leaving only cement columns holding up the empty base. He slowly unsheathed his sword, the metallic zing as it came free of its shield, holding it in both hands. His cautious steps moved to the building, breath shallow and in small bursts.

"...Hello?" he mumbled in timid fear. The instant the sound hit, he was unaware and feeling secure, and now...it just shattered, the thoughts of Gear, Justice, death, Martha, and anything else, sprinting a marathon around his brain. He walked forward still, his eyes peering into the darkness as best they could, the faint orange glow from the center of the city faintly giving him light, and the dim moon also leaving no real light for him to use in its crescent stage.

A small piece of rubble crunched under his next step, him nwincing at the sound, standing silent for a moment before continuing. He finally stood inside the building, his sword held in front of him and surveying. After a sweep with his eyes, he sighed, going to sheath his sword again when another thump was heard from an adjacent building. Now, he knew something was happening and was up.

"Come out, now." he said forcefully, his fear being hid by a gulp he took with his own throat. He exitted the building into the narrow alley seperating them and looked into the next one with an equal sense of hesitation, finding nothing, then returning out to his post looking at the horizon and hills of France.

_Drip...drip...drip..._ His body went cold with the sound of drops of water. He knew it not to be the weather or rain...but he knew what it was. **There are a few folk tales, well, not folk tales, since they're more or less true, but stories about the drip drip drip when facing Gears. I'll tell you in a moment.** he spun around, slashing his sword furiously and with a yell that hardly escaped his throat. As he turned though, his base for standing was lost, as his ankles were cut in a quick swipe from a scythe. He toppled down to his side, falling onto flat pavement, the wind knocked out of him from his fall. He opened his mouth to scream (as best he could), but was unable to, the feeling of the grooves of a boot on his neck.

"Filthy fucking creature...always ready to die, eh? Well, I'll be your shephed, little sheep." Testament pushed down on his boot slowly, watching the man's eyes bulge slightly, cheeks turn crimson, his hands clawing at his leg, but only a smirk satisfaction coming across his face. Then, Testament lifted his foot off of the man's throat temporarily, a otrrent of wind scking into his lungs, blood flowing to his face, then the boot came back down with thunderous force.

**The drip drip drip is basically a story about Testament. Soldiers tell this story of knowing that Testament is upon you when you hear the dripping sound. No matter where it comes from, you know it is him. On the battlefield, if you hear it...you're basically dead, except if you're telling the story, then you're lucky to be alive. But...the drip comes from blood. The story goes that Testament always is bleeding, or has blood on him...bleeding for his own sins or other's, or the blood of those killed, any number of stories. Either way, there's a drip everytime Testament is near...some sort of blood. From what I know, there's a cut on his right hand that never heals, despite being a Gear. It bleeds...always does. That blood is the only certain way people know who he was, that he was human, because it's not the stale and coagulated goo in most Gears, it's a running and pumped blood, hence why he bleeds.**

**There's another story about his scythe, the preferred weapon. He always uses a scythe in battle, held down by his knee caps. They say it forms and vanishes from his blood...that he can summon his scythe from the very blood he has inside of him, and then return it in an instant. It'd explain a lot, being a blood scythe, but somehow, it seems far fetched for me. I mean, yeah, there's Gears, Fuurenken, Fuuraiken, and Justice...but come on, magic is only a psuedonym for another scientific breakthrough humans found, not some mythical dragon energy that makes bolts and summons hell spawns, though you'd be hard pressed to not show how we've used magic in the exact same ways, eh?**

**Back to the drip though. That's the story of it...the drip means Testament, plain and simple. The few who originated the story have to have some backing to their tales, considering that I find it to be true, but also, whenever Testament gets near to a human to hear the drip, they should be dead anyway, and about all of them are. These few survivors...they tell these stories, and sometimes, they're fabrications, like a lot of war stories are, but that's alright. There needs to be stories, some sort of levity, through out war and hard times. If you let yourself be killed by the times and the emotions, instead of the enemy, you'll never have anything to live for when the war is over, or anything to live for when you're not fighting. If fighting is life, what happens when you win every fight? We've come to the end of this chapter...but there's always a next, and it doesn't end. What would an author be, telling a real story or not, if he couldn't build suspense and thrills? You may know the story, you may have lived it, but what's the point to reading if I just go "this happened, that happened"? Nothing, so I have to have some sort of writing skills to complement my will and drive to write a story for you, my dear readers, to make it something to read.**

**  
**Zeronova's Notes:  
And there's the end of the Darton-Colt scenes for a while. I think I did good in putting in a cameo, and making it seem like it was good to have it there. Also, I won't just throw Jeremy Colt away, since of course, in real books, you never see an author introduce a character who does a pretty major thing and then disappear (unless they're killed, unless they're still important in their death...we'll never forget Aeris). My 5k updates always make sure the chapters are evened out, like 185,000 and 190,000 to 195,000, get it? So, I'll make a shorter next few chapters to even it out (not a huge gap of shortages, just maybe a few 2 or 3 chapters at about 4k instead of 5k to even out the word count) to hit the 200k. Till Monday.


	40. Arc 2: Mr Death

The party atmosphere that preceeded the events slowly waned. Families took their children home, the dancing and singing stopped as the drunken fell asleep, and the soldiers retired to their own quarters, usually with an A.A. in tow. The bonfire had also followed suit, dying down from its roaring flame of random objects to smoldering ashes, the golden orange tinge of flame roasting at the edges of the blackness, keeping the heat alive. The bottom of it still crackled with life, bits of the fire still spreading slowly in the underbrush and beneath the towering pile of burnt rubble, keeping warmth to the few passed out around.

The bar had closed a while ago, the soldier who ran it having gone out early that night for some rest, on accoutn of his having late shift tomorrow. He'd made arrangements for the next night, anothe guy to run it while he was gone, but there wasn't a shortage of liquor that night, as usual. The soldiers and inhabitants lived it up, every night a party, like telling Justice thay he couldn't break the tradition of humanity or the spirit, none of it. So, every night, the tradition was the same.

Ky was still on the side of the fire, near some destroyed building, rubble lying on the groud he had used as a make-shit stool, and later lying across it. He hadn't been disturbed, which was different than usual, as some drunken soldier would come up and tell him how much he loved him and his authority, or an older drunken soldier telling him about how he thought Ky was worthless compared to Kliff, and th few citizens who would want to shake his hand for the city he gave them. Either way, he was almost never at peace, but that too waned as time went on, people more accustomed to him and his actions, so he was no longer a celebrity but another guy, albeit a special guy, but another soldier amongst the masses who you could identify. He became less deified, especially because of his age, but the respectful people saw him in a more friendly light due to his own personal approach to how people approached him.

The drunken few who would have said something they would regret, he let slide, due to their drunken natures, and the sober ones saw this and were grateful, bcause who knew if Bob said something he would rergret when he was drunk. It both showed the leadership and character of this person whom they had only heard about or had been preached, ni both good or bad lights. He wasn't caring and knowing of his being judged at these times, but he was always being, and became more and more comfortable, especially in his own city.

His eyes slowly opened, his sleep breaking. He looked up slightly, returning to his sitting position, looking around the court yard through glazed and sleepy eyes. The fire dimly lit the surroundings in a bleak orange, the shuffling around of a few drunkards to their residences and a few randomly dispersed passed out soldiers and civilians, lucky that the weather was nice and warm. He got up slowly, his left hand gripped on his sword, sheathed at his side, an instinct he never stopped. Even when sleeping, his hnd was on the hilt of his sword, and if it wasn't on his hip, he slept with it next to him. Gears were relentless, always had to be ready.

He stepped forward, trying to figure out which way was forward to his small, make-shift cabin. As soon as his foot hit the groud on his next step, a low whisper of a voice trailed on the wind. He stopped in his tracks, listening. He was tired, he couldn't duobt he may have been hearing things, but he was too unsure to chance it. He held his breath, unsure to take another step, when the voice came again on the frill of the wind, but louder this time, like a laughter...a female's voice, full of evil and malice, and then a man's voice, gruff and violent, overlapping and having all of the exact same twinges in their voices at the exact same moments...

The few people in a deep sleep stayed that way, but the others who were less intoxicated herd it too, a slight rouse out of them to the faint voices laughing on the gale that blew through the vacant streets, playing the fire likea fiddle as it twisted and wrapped around the wind, carried off by it, then returning with a renewed vigor and light, to only repeat the proces of being stolen away. Ky took another hesitant step, before he took one back in shock. A slight series of thumps was heard, as if something was rolling along, from where the voice was echoing.

Then, the rolling sound found a form. It slowly lost its speed and rolled into the courtyard, turning and coming to a stop with a slight gasp from Ky.

It was a head, severed at the neck, not by blade, but by rough, blunt force. A few people aroudn him saw, including an A.A. and a civilian woman, clutching her drowsy child to her as she was sleeping near her son by the flames. Their cres alerted even the drunken ones who came to life at the sond with a few slurred words and bloodshot eyes. Ky looked at the head for a moment, the blood pooling around the bottom and mixing with the dirt inbetween the cracks of the bricks to form a slimy crimson goo, supplanting the lifeless eyes staring up with words that its motuh couldn't say.

"Seikishidan soldiers! Get up now!" Ky screamed instinctively, his sword slightly zinging as it exitted his sheath with a few trailing electric bolts jumping back to the sheath before he took it too far away. Soldiers popped out of their tents, throwing on garments, the drunk stood up, some tumbling back down, families acting like gophers and tentatively looking at the surroudnings, grabbnig their kin in their arms, wondering t the sond of the yells. "Gears!" Ky screamed, seeing the night's occupants coming to life in front of him, their fears realized, the isntant that word reached their ears, panic and confusion blooming in season and pandemonium becoming the normal. It was time for the peace to end in Lyon.

"How bad is it?" Quint asked hesitantly, squinting at the sharp throng of pain as the needle pierced his skin.

"It's bad." Bianca said monotonely, eyes trained on his hip with sterile gloves on and a needle, trailing silvery thin thread. "But, it's not that bad. Just a flesh wound."

"Those bleed the most."

"But it'll be healed in a few days. No organs, no bones, nothing. Just a flesh wound."

"Yeah...ouch." he said, his body contorting almost instantly as she pulled on the needle, closing the hole slightly as it closed the wound slightly, trailing to the opposite side of flesh, a little higher to do the same action again.

"But, this is the first gun wond I ever dealt with."

"Is it any worse than a normal stab wound?"

"Not really, it's just all the way through. A stab usually doesn't go all the way through, and when it does, one end is larger than the other, the entrance is bigger, more jagged, and bleeds more than the exit, and you start at the exit, and seal it up from there, letting it heal from back to front. Don't want the skin healing up first on either side of the wound to enclose a big space of nothing in your hip. We gotta let it heal from the inside out."

"You know your shit, Bianca."

"I'm not a real A.A., but I do my damndest when I need to be one."

"Even when not off on a mission?"

"Hey, it sticks with me."

"You're sticking this with me."

"I could be worse, y'know." She said with a smirk, pulling tight on another length in the sewing to close it further on the back end. A minute later, she was done with the sewing, biting off the end of the threading. "Speaking of worse, this part is going to hurt" she said with a slight smirk, grabbing into her bag behind her.

They were in Bianca's apartment, night coming on strong, and near about the middle of it. Earlier in the day, after the fun meeting with the bounty hunter, Jeremy Colt, Bianca had to call in a few favors. Zimmerman came over and helped reattach the door with a bit of spit and grease, so now it worked like it used to, except it had a few aesthetic damages, like the swivels were bent and cracked a little, and the framing around the door was even more cracked and rotted out, but it was back in place and all of the locks were locked, double and triple checked by Bianca.

A few words of hate from Zimmerman lingered in Bianca's head about Darton's own err, his wickedness that Zimmerman seemed intent on portraying to Bianca and that he was no good for her. She put it off, as she always did with his fatherly rhetoric, but for some reason, it lingered in her head like smoke in a closed room. She took no heed of it, but slowly, the words repeated hour after hour, and her already mounted suspicion and wavering confidence was given another hurdle.

She had used the couch and the floor next to it to tend to Darton. After his fight, he had sustained a single shot wound, and a multitude of bruises and scrapes. She didn't care about those, but the bullet wound was a real problem. She had an A.A. kit she always had with her on her salvage missions, and this was the first time she used it outside of a battlezone, but similar in that it was another Seikishidan soldier. She'd tended many civilians also, from raided or taken back cities, but she found Seikishidan soldiers took the pain and woudns better. Basically, if they weren't dead, the soldiers usually got better. The same couldn't have been said of the civilians. **That's another story for another time.**

She stuffed the wound from the front with biodegradeable tissue paper and healing agents, making sure it would heal from the inside out and not capping itself. Quint gritted his teeth and let out a few grunts of pain, Bianca using a foot-long, thin metallic pole to push in the objects to the hole, as per A.A. standard. He was lying backdown on the floor next to the couhc, his hands surging in pain as she slowly filled the hole. His right hand groped up into the air in pain, Bianca's hand finding his as she grabbed another tool from her bag behind her with her other hand. His eyes looked at her oddly for a second, through their glazed and squinted state of fighting the pain. She held his hand for a moment, then his pain contracted his hand over hers, but she wouldn't let go of his.

She capped off the wound when she had filled it with enough anti-bacterial junk and packing so that it would heal properly, and put a gauze patch over the top, held on by tape. He smiled slightly, the smile forced as he sat up, her work done, his right still in her left. He pivtoed slightly, putting his back against the couch, and Bianca sitting next to him. The bullet had gone right through the flesh of his hip on the right side.

"So...how do you feel?"

"Like I have a hole in my hip." he said with a smirk, wiping his eyes of their glaze.

"Always a smart ass, eh Quint?"

"It's a lifestyle."

"You know...I wasn't sure what to think this morning."

"Like I was? It just happened."

"I know, I know...but I wasn't ready. It hit me hard."

"You're an A.A., you've been aroud the bad things in this world, right?"

"Come on. I'm an A.A., not a soldier. I arrive after the bad things happen, after its over, everyone's dead and I work with the dead. Blessed are the dead, they say. But, the Gears are never alive, the men are never fighting in front of me, and I don't get to see how it plays out, I see how it ends. I don't see the game played, I see the final scores. When it happens in front of me, I don't know what to do, or anything. I get carried away, I'm not in control."

"You trying to blame yourself I got shot?"

"I dunno, maybe I am, it's..."

"Don't. He came for me, and he didn't get me. That's enough of a win. Because he should have left with my life and only left with a bit of my blood, I'm good with that. In plus, I wasted a bullet of his, and he's not too happy. Win-win."

"You could have died."

"I didn't. I could have died a hundred times in the Seikishidan, I could have died when you found me, I should have been dead. Don't be naive that the thought of me dying is something that's far from our relationship. Hell, I AM dead, if you remember the K.I.A. list."

"Yeah...I don't want to think about it though."

"...Why?" Quint asked hesitantly.

"Come on, why would I want to have to think about someone like you dying? I don't want it to happen, and that's a good enough reason."

"I ain't gonna die on you, don't worry."

"Well, even now, the stuff Zimmerman said gets to me."

"And what did he say while I was lying on the ground half past unconscious?"

"Y'know...the normal stuff. How he thinks it is bad that I'm with you and you're living here and the kind fo trouble you bring me."

"Yeah...but come on, that was a bounty hunter. Hell, why was there even a bounty on me? Just because I'm a Seikishidan? Not my fault...and, we reigstered. It's too lawless down here..."

"And you're the sheriff?"

"No, I'm the guy trying to get by day to day without mingling with the head-hunting sheriffs."

"But...Zimmerman's words kind of got to me."

"Yeah...I thought I settled this with him."

"Really?"

"Yeah...we've been talking lately when I go in during the mornings for my coffee."

"And I've not heard of this?"

"...Eh, nothing much, but I thought I at least hit middle ground with the guy. Guess not."

"...You sure?"

"What does that mean?"

"...He wasn't saying the same old same old today."

"...Is that a fact?"

"Well, don't count me wrong off the bat. He said the normal bullshit about how he doesn't like you,he's trouble, see what happens with you, the trouble I get caused,you're just living off of me, yadda yadda."

"Figures..."

"Let me continue before you interrupt." She stammered before continuing, looking over at him from her sitting position, back against the couch, as his was, sitting on his left. "As I was saying...basically, after that junk, he said some stuff I didn't think he would."

"How long was I out for all of this?"

"All day. But, he wasn't here all day, just for a few hours, to help out. Slow day at the shop anyway. Basically, he said that, while he doesn't like you too much, he can see why I was still with ya. I was cleaning the blood off the floor and all at that point, popping you up, the whole A.A. thing when he said it. He was over in the corner where your sword usually was, just watching, since he just finished doing the door."

"He said that he thinks you're trouble, you brought this here and this danger here, and that...but also that he thinks that I'll be fine with you. Granted, you don't get me killed, seeing what I took and what I told him, he was reluctant to say, but yeah, he thinks I'll be fine with you."

"...Okay, what does that mean?"

"I don't know, what am I, psychic? Can I tell the future or what people think?"

"Well, that'd be cool."

"Pff" she said, chuckling and standnig up as she did, walking over to the single bathroom in the apartment, the door on the sae wall and a foot away from the room, hers, the door closing and sounds of sinks and toilets echoing under the inch the door allowed. Darton sighed, leaning back, then trying to stand up, wincing in pain at his hip, then sitting down on the couch. He prodded the top of the wound with his finger, a bit of blood through the gauze and padding, wiping the blood on the couch.

"You keep messing with it and it won't heal" Bianca said, exitting the bathroom.

"Yeah...so, what did Zimmerman have to say?"

"Basically...he talked about when I got to Troy. When I got here, I don't remember me being too young, something like an old oprhanage lady brought me here and died. And, I got around and lived here. Zimmerman's always been there for me, even when I didn't want him, and he said that he thinks that you will be there for me if I need you to be. You know, he was like the guy I always turned to and was always there if I needed, and he thinks you'll be good for me in that way. That I'll always be able to turn to you and you will be there for me...I think the whole thing this morning had him turn his view point to that. I don't know if it was his realization I wasn't about to let you go, but now he isn't so evil against ya."

"He will if I go to his shop."

"Probably, but you've got his blessings."

"And a piercing in my hip."

"That's not his fault or anything he can give you. That's irrelevent."

"Way to bust my humorous remark."

"It's a fulltime job. In plus...it's too late for humor."

"Never too late for humor."

"How about we just cool it, Darton. You've lost a lot of blood today, and look like shit."

"Yeah..." he trailed off, looking around the apartment. His gaze wasn't all it should have been, blood loss as it was and all, kind fo woozy and that floating feeling, but the pain kept him grodned. His eyes fell upon the blood stains in the floor where he had fallen, and the specs drizzled about during the fight, memories and feelings coming back to him. "That's kind of familiar." he said, nodding at the major blood stain, rotted into the floor now with a brown, lifeless conviction that screamed "Here lie Quint Darton, dead by fall, dead by shot wound and bounty, how many more graves will he have?".

"The stain?"

"Yeah, remember my story?"

"Yeah...Newton."

"You escaped his fate. Let's see if I remember this right...both arms broken, stabbed a few times, he had been brought to your apartment by your samaritan parents who tried to save him after some muggers beat the shit out of him for having nothing to steal, and he left stains in your floor you never got out."

"Quite a memory you got."

"I remember a lot. But, you're not going to suffer that same fate."

"Well, come on. When I came to you, I had my shoulder shattered, other one was dug into deep by sword, I was useless with my arms. Had a lot of blood loss over the entire battle at the Headquarters..."

"But you're not dead, nor to be buried in an anonymous grave."

"Let's hope not." She chuckled at his sarcasm, then continued.

"In any case...that blood may be like the old blood, but you're different. That kid died after he left his blood on your floor, you're not dead."

"Funny how things always come backt o death between you and me."

"You're gonna be the death of me, kiddo..." Bianca joked, leaning onto Darton's side, sighing. "And...what now?"

"I'm gonna go die on the couch, with the help of a few of those nice pain killers in your A.A. bag."

"Go for it, Mr. Death."

"See you in Heaven." he said, reaching for the bag with his free hand, following his said actions and falling asleep soon after, but never an arms length from Bianca. Bianca stayed at his side and held his hand until his light snores told her she could let go. But, she didn't, she fell asleep right next to the couch, her hand still held in his, never leaving it.

Zeronova's Notes:  
Well, this is the 200k...I've got a lot to say, but let's start with the usual. This chapter has a bit of fore-shadowing, in many ways, and we see Lyon finally falling out of the Seikishidan's hands, and the resolution of the Colt-Darton segment. And, this was shorter, to cut the 200k mark. Now...onto the big part.

I'd like to keep this short, sweet, and to the point. Thank you Samuraiter, for basically being my idea and writing trampoline, to bounce things off of. PWMA for being my most consistent reviewer, and finally coming to your potential in writing and writing a truly good story that I always knew you could TWH...a long and good (albeit sparse) reviews, and also having another great story, that finally got on track and is kicking butt. What else to say...this story is going to be probably 300k, because the end of Arc II is coming on...maybe 6 more chapters, then we have all of Arc III (The Final Arc). I'd like to thank everyone, readers who review and don't, people who will never even see this (family, friends, etc.), anyone that even remotely matters, I'd like to thank. But, I'm going to save it all for the end of this monster story...and then, you'll see an amazingly long eiplogue from me. This is a minor "Yeehaw!" in the long run, but I use it aptly.

Yeehaw!


	41. Arc 2: To the unwlecome fray

**_-X- Introduction -X-_**_  
- Desolate Gail: Redux  
- Started on: 5-17-2004 / Posted on: 3-30-2005 / Checked on: Not Applicable  
- By: Zeronova  
- Chapter 41: To the unwelcome fray_

_- _Text: Third person, Narration  
- _Text_: First person, Thoughts  
- **Text**: Interjection, the Narrator****

**_X- End Introduction -X-_**

"How could this have happened?" a man screamed, his arms ripe with children like a tree in bloom with apples. He was sprinting out of his house, a wife in tow with equal amount of kids, there's and others, just grabbing people to save. Ky ran past the house and through and around all, to the disgust of the man who saw him as fleeing. "Get back here and help, you fucking kid!" The echoes chased Ky as he ran, but he was not fleeing.

Jumping over a pile of rubble, he had come around back, with a bit of a shortcut, to the Seikishidan encampment, where he set up his soldiers, but now he was at the back of the rows of tents. He started throwing each tent around, kicking it to awake and move the soldiers from drunken daze and deep slumber, yelling the calls of battle the entire time.

"Get up! Move! Get your sword! Gears! Now!"

"Sir, what's happening?" a familiar voice said as he turned to a tent behind him, Jaygus' head poking out with a ring of sleep under his eyes and his naturally-slicked back peppered hair in a frazzled and messy tangle over his face.

"Gears!" he screamed, turning to grab a stumbling soldier, put him on balance, and then threw him off balance again at the direction of the Gears, as he fell in a sleepy jog. Jaygus nodded, turning back into his tent, grabbing his sword, and then standing out next to Ky. He was still in uniform, and although it was a bit dirty and wrinkled, he was ready.

"Always ready?" Ky said with a slight smirk while catching his breath as the soldier were all awake and moving now.

"These situations are good reasons why."

"True. Let God shine his graces on us."

"We'll need them. Let it not be a repeat of the Krieg." Ky nodded in silent affirmation, drew his sword from its sheath where he had placed it while trying to rouse the soldiers to their awake state.

The Gears were rushing from the outside in a circle to the center, Testament having come first in front of the rest, the knot constricting now. The fire cast off a light orange glow that was hardly visible, but enough to silhouette the moves of people. And, the moves of Testament were shown with that silhouette, the graceful jump back and forth and poetic slash of his scythe and slashing down of fleeing humans and soldiers who dared to come up against him in a fight. He dashed back and forth, disappearing and reappearing in what seemed to be only the darkness, a slash here, knocking a soldier down, waiting for the next, stabbing through him and disposing of them like clock work.

Ky ran in with the surge of soldiers to the center, a group following him and the rest fanning out. Testament's chuckle floated on the wind, a light, yet piercing double laugh, a woman's voice like a seductive lullaby and then a deep, feral growl that could only be an animal's as he cut down each human, and their screams loud and abrasive.

Testament choked out a death squeal out of the last soldier before Ky arrived, stabbing the man with his scythe, then letting the scythe hang down, the soldier's chest impaled on it. He reached to the blade, blood dripping from the Seikishidan's mouth, slowly sliding off with his own weight, eyes clenched, then he died and fell off the edge lying flat on the ground with the stab wound facing skyward. Testament looked up to the next human he could slay, smiling slightly, the scythe coming up to meet his second hand and hold it tightly. A quick dash to his left and a jump to his right, and two soldiers fell of Ky's group that were running forward. The rest stopped in their tracks, looking at the enemy and tensing the battle, their swords wavering in their hands, forming a line, watching Testament. The Gear Commander slowly stood up, every movement of bone slipping into joint and standing erect like a sick display of gross anatomy until at full height, the red eyes turned to the pack of Seikishidan, helmed by Ky Kiske.

"Come, human. You wish to join your brethren on the ground?" One of them tried to run forward, stopped by Ky's hand, reaching out and grabbing his collar. Ky looked at him for a moment with a stone stare.

"Let him come, Kiske. I'll kill him before I get to you."

"Go get the civilians, and evacuate now to the East District." Ky said strongly, one eye stuck on Testament, his other at the soldiers around him. "Jaygus, lead them."

"Sir..."

"I'll meet up later, go." Jaygus nodded, yelling out an order and the soldiers dispersing, haphazardly. Ky looked back at Testament slowly, his brow low and his head held even lower, bringing his sword up to attack position.

"Foolish boy..." Testament chuckled before attacking. Ky didn't even see the attack or exactly how the attack was executed, a Gear was too fast, and Testament was deadlier than any, due to his ability to think. A shaky sword blocked the slash that came from the front, Kiske taking a step back and steadying his vibrating sword from the blow. He looked around, not seeing his enemy...he appeared and disappeared like a wraith, his speed and ghastly cackle teasing Ky to turn around to look for him, but exposing one's back was always bad.

"Can you hear that, Kiske?" the voice whispered from everywhere around him. He turned, looking around, his sword's tip looking for Gear flesh to stab, finding none as he swung around blindly, the blue flashes springing to fruition and then jumping back to blackness. "Those screams and cries of the dead and dying...those humans coming to their rightful deaths. They're my brothers lying yours down to death...isn't that right for it, brother of mine?"

"You're my enemy, not my brother."

"You'd be so wrong and so right...you know what I mean, human, do not try and deceive me."

"Of course...but that's not relevant now. And, you're a Gear, you're the enemy. You're a servant of Justice, you'd kill me as soon as you would our father."

"Our…how dare you use the word. Enough talk...there will be enough of it for you to do to your God once you die." The light breeze behind Ky made him turn, breathing in as he did and slashing in front of him blindly, the sound of metal echoing beyond the tramples of feet of Gears and humans. His weapon locked in the inside curve of the scythe, neither weapon able to move. Testament gripped his scythe, its worn wooden hilt five feet long and the scythe over three feet long but extending perpendicular to the wooden holding stick, its razor sharp edge dyed in blood, gritting against Ky's own weapons embrace, tingling with lightning and surging along the metallic surface, bits of the blood on his enemy's weapon sizzling off into the air, filling their noses with a copper like smell.

"Filthy humans...look at them run around you" Testament said in a low, seething voice, the shadows and silhouettes of people fleeing through the alleys and broken streets of Lyon. The Gear leaned forward over his interlock blade, taking a step forward and Ky one back, his face nearing Ky's, the burning red eyes seen under the veil of blackened ravenous hair. "Look at what your race is...rats, fleeing from the predator, not standing and fighting."

"There are those who fight for them," Ky grunted, pushing on his sword against Testament, but him holding his weapon. They both jostled slightly, trying to unhook their weapons from each other's, but not wanting to step back or remove a hand to punch the other, for that one moment could be an instant death.

"Disgusting..."

"You're not him, you're Justice. Speaking through your minions...I can see you, smell you in him. You're not who I called my brother years ago."

"Ha...I am still the same, but I am now able to see and know more, not confined to the idiocy of human standards." A sudden surge broke Testament's glazed and angry eyes, going wide for a moment, then returning to focusing on Ky's sapphire blues through the thick blonde hair matted on his face. While Testament had his blackened hair covering his face, Ky had his blonde, almost as if the colors of their hair covering their eyes that shone through the crinite mask, the hue giving the appearance of life versus death. The voice was mellower, calmer, but poisonous in words now, the angry and emotional Gear Commander in front of Ky mellowing to a blank and far away stare, but nonetheless the force on his interlocked weapon increasing. "What do you do this for, Kiske? For God or for them? For the running few who live only to further exist?"

"I fight for those who cannot do it themselves, I fight for humanity."

"There's no reason to fight" the voice said flat-lined, no emotion or tone, but another surge of movement from Testament forcing Kiske to haphazardly step back again, his foot slightly slipping on the body of a fallen comrade. His boot found dirt, but only felt the pressure push him back slightly again with Testament's forward walk, pebbles and soil caught up in the treads of his boot as he was forced backwards, weapon still tingling with electricity as it writhed in the curve of the scythe.

"They're the reason," Ky said, his head nodding down to the corpses littered around Testament in a concentric circle.

"For the dead?"

"Blessed are the dead and their memories."

"Ironic." Testament smirked.

"You once lied among them…you were mourned Tesu."

"Ha…I somehow doubt that, Kiske. If he had been mourned, you wouldn't be fighting my weapon now…" The voice droned, in third person, making obvious whom was truly speaking at this point, the sudden change in demeanor earlier now signaling to Ky what had happened.

"Justice…how dare you. You use this body for a puppet for what reason?" he said with a renewed anger, pushing on his blade and stepping forward forcefully enough to push Testament back a foot. "For what reason? Have Kliff fail…have me succeed him? Your plan all along?"

"Don't mock me, Kiske…I have my plans."

"You call yourself an 'I'? You're nothing but a creature, a Hellspawn!"

"Then strike me down, Holy Smiter…be as Michael was to God, be His sword to deal with those who have incurred His wrath, and send me to depths of Hell…I wait for you then, boy. Can you do what none other could? What Kliff couldn't even accomplish? I'll wait…and see." The glazed look in the eyes and monotone voice broke, Testament gasping slightly for air and the scythe weakening for a second; Ky now knew the grip of Justice was cancelled from Testament for a moment. He took the opportunity, stepping forward and kicking out Testament's knee.

The Gear fell to one knee from his knocked one, quickly rolling to the left to miss a blade that would have sliced upward through his chin, in turn slicing horizontally with his scythe to where Atlas' knees would have been, had he not rolled in turn. They both slowly stood from their rolls, facing each other, then walked, step for step, circling.

They each waited for the next step, and then bounded off as soon as their stepping foot touched, dashing at each other with weapons in slash. Their weapons contacted, then left as they both launched by, turning on their toes as they hit, and slashing again, weapons meeting in a clash of metal, electric bolts jumping across the conducive metal, a bit of the electricity reaching out its frail blue fingers of death and running up Testament's arm, skin curdling away to leave disgusting ash, no pain felt by the Gear and only smiling, breaking the weapon lock and stabbing at Kiske.

They parried volley after volley, neither successfully hitting flesh. They were relatively even matched, each clash of blade and bone making both grunt in fashion. Although Testament was stronger, being a Gear, Kiske had been right next to him for strength when their weapons locked or when their blades hit, he hadn't seemed in anyway deficient for his lack of muscle when compared to the Gear's enormous strength. It was possibly the moment, not wanting to fall behind to someone he had never fallen behind to, or just that there was too much raw emotion behind the duel that made his adrenaline, his body…feel alive, invigorated, and that his strength was limitless. **That last sentence has a lot that could be looked into, but I'll wait to explain it.**

Finally, they each crossed blades once more, the echoing clanks of the weapons sounding into the night, crawling through the caverns of buildings and around fleeing humans. The civilians ran in the background, Gears en route, swarming around and covering the city like a plague, stabbing anyone they could find and swatting down anyone foolish enough to get in their way, but none bothered Kiske or Testament…they were not permitted to, by Siren and Justice.

Both of the men, if you could call them that, stood over their weapons, slightly stooping, but only the human was breathing in hard. Kiske wiped a bead of perspiration from his brow, flinging his hand to his side, the drops splattering on the ground as he looked at Testament, who had no deep breath, no sweat…just a lifelessly pale complexion to offset the scythe tainted in permanent blood. His body convulsed, standing upright again, Kiske knowing exactly what it meant, Justice was taking hold of him, but he didn't strike in his moment…he instead waited, waited for what Justice would say.

"Go, young Undersn. Your ride might leave without you, and I don't want you to die here…" the voice said, flat and unwavering, both tones in the dual voice weaving in and out of each other without a single variation in pitch, tone, or any other measure of the aural spectrum. With that, Testament jumped backwards, the red eyes lingering in Kiske's memory as his enemy seemed to vanish into the darkness outside of the main campfire, melding in with the black like dust set upon a wind, vaporizing into nothing. And, the Gear Commander was gone.

Jaygus grabbed a few random civilians who were running around aimlessly, like chickens with their heads cut off. He knew it was hard to keep a straight head and focus in the face of Gears near loved ones…God knew that he had that feeling too many times, but he just wished they weren't so stupid. A man, holding two girls, couldn't have been older than five each, ran frantically. With one firm snap, Jaygus grabbed him by the collar, and turned the man to look him straight in his nearly gray eyes. He normally had his graying jet-black hair slicked back, but being as he was woken up in the middle of the night and then the skirmish, it was a wild mess all over his head, but the foolish look of his hair wouldn't offset the serious look in his eyes. He tossed the man behind him, the man faltering, then standing and running with the crying girls.

Jaygus and his crew of men, formerly led by Kiske, before he took his fight with Testament solo, had ran around the city as best they could. A few of the districts had been known to house a lot of people, and they had told the civilians not to branch out too much for this exact reason, if a Gear horde attacked, but that didn't stop some from claiming some more outward buildings for the space and comfort of having some privacy, which now looked to be their downfall. They had fought their way to the West District, then the North District, and had rounded up as many as they could, herding them to the East, where the MTs were stationed. They were usually up North so that they could make easy time to Geneva and any city lying north of them, such as Paris-3, Dresden-4, Bordeaux Base, and various others. For some reason, they parked on the East on the last shipment, maybe because it was a bit more solid than the mossy sewage entrance at the North.

Jaygus would basically be the rear flank guard for the civilians, him and his men creating a shield for them as they ran further into the darkness, fending off Gears left and right. He had lost three men already, but those accompanying him were fierce, extremely fierce for being woken up in the middle of the night, and two-thirds of them moderately drunk. He was sure if the U.N. ever questioned him about this, he'd try and be snide and say that the liquor actually helped some of the men fight better, but he filed the thought away quickly.

Slashing one Gear across the chest, he quickly turned and jumped over some rubble and through the side of a destroyed house, rounding the corner of the rubble, then turning back to face the Gears again, stabbing the Gear which he had just previously sliced, finishing it. Facing the Gears and moving backwards was an awkward procedure, attacking the Gears as they rushed forward and the Seikishidan moving backward, while still fending them off.

Finally, he got out of the clear of the city, feeling the rough and splintered cement change to weeds, filtering through the cement and vines growing over the outer extremities of the buildings on the outer edges, the hard ground turning to soft, sinking foliage. He could also hear more and more screams. He finished off his last Gear, seeing the others of the force spreading out over the edges of the city, exiting other holes than the one Jaygus' men stood in.

Turning around, he saw the three MTs. They had their pay loads open, people being stuffed inside, one soldier in the open back, being thrown up children whom he handed off to another soldier, and so they seemed to be hoisting materials quickly on board, said materials being live people, as those able to get on themselves did on the opposite side of the soldier.

Around each of the MTs was a large crowd of vying parents, screaming that their child should be next, or trying to force their way through to get on. It was almost sad…knowing these hundreds of people couldn't ever fit and yet they punch the man next to them, try to desperately get on board, only to fall off the stuffed end, or holding up their kid in hopes they could save their offspring, at the expense of their own lives.

All too familiar to Jaygus.

He saw other pockets of soldiers protecting the edges of the city, trying to buy time for the civilians and fellow soldiers. The white robes, despite many of the personnel not even having them on, flung back in their furious movements, stabbing, blocking, and trying to hold off the Gears anywhere they could so that the MTs could fill up and leave. Many of the soldiers were only half dressed, no shirt on, or just their long overcoat and nearly nothing else on, considering they were woken to battle in the middle of an alcohol-induced party stupor.

A.A.'s ran around as furiously, jumbling around syringes and pills to dying soldiers and civilians, yelling out for anesthetic or any other items. A few of them ran right into the fray of battle, grabbing a soldier that had just fallen due to wound of stab, and dragging him out by his collar futilely. Few of the A.A.'s pulled out their worthless twenty-eight-inch sword, kept on the belt for protection and U.N. policy, and tried fighting hand to hand with a few Gears side-by-side with Seikishidan, usually just becoming organic roadblocks for the Gears to plow through, killing off the brave women easier than they would a soldier or a fighter.

The scene was macabre.

The nearest pocket of soldiers Jaygus could find, he plunged in, slashing Gear after Gear, then jumped to the next hole in the buildings and rubble that a Gear jumped through or slid into the open fields. He slashed it down, finding another and killing it, making sure anything that moved and wasn't human was killed, not getting close to the MTs.

A building, with a crumbled roof, suddenly seemed to explode, a Gear bashing its way through a solid cement wall to make a new way for it to get out into the open field. Jaygus quickly separated the group of soldier he was with, running over to where the building side had crumbled, slicing down a Gear, which shook off the debris from its body. Another quickly followed, stabbing it three times in quick succession, then a third that leapt out like a jaguar. He sliced it in mid air, halfway through its neck, the body slapping into the ground and sending clods of dirt and grass into the air with its massive body rolling along the terrain. A fourth Gear jumped at him, running over the rubble like a spider, but fell quickly, its blood spouting out like dropping a stone in a still pool of water, blasting outward of the explosion on its left temple. Jaygus wondered for a moment as to what caused the Gear's death, not being his sword…then looked over to his right, seeing a familiar face.

The metal casing hit the ground inaudibly, the man reaching down, picking it up, and putting it in his pocket, as the loud thunder of the shot went unheard over the screams. Adam Gestahl holstered his pistol underneath his suit jacket, nodding to Jaygus. Gestahl and Jaygus were a good deal of years apart, Gestahl nearly Undersn's age, but yet they shared the knowledge of a senior person, both having graying or grayed slicked back hair and a disposition towards the formalities of the Old World. Neither of them had much for formal meeting, but through Kiske, they knew of whom each other were, and Jaygus had only heard rumors of that gun, but now he knew it existed, and that Gestahl had done him a favor. They shared a moment, looking into each other's eyes in the nearly pitch black night, then Jaygus turned back to the city as Gestahl hurried along with another wave of incoming civilians to a near MT.

Looking at the new hole, he didn't see any new Gears coming through…the only lights from the embers hundreds of meters off in the innards of the city casting a slight orange glow, hardly even useful. Then, he saw a slight glint…a sapphire glint. He instantly knew it.

"Mr. Kiske!" he yelled, stepping into the broken building, slicing a Gear to his side, which was to use the hole to exit. He ran a bit more, dodging two Gears, and meeting with Atlas, who took a moment to lean against a wall to catch his breath, then quickly sprinted alongside Jaygus. They stabbed and slashed a few Gears that popped out of the shadows, but moved quicker than they fought, Jaygus leading him through the hole and out into the field.

"The MT, sir! You must get on!" he said, hurrying Kiske over to one of the closest vehicles. The one on the far side started moving with a squeal of its tires, the people behind running alongside, screaming to please be able to get on, or almost tossing their loved ones onto the platform of the MT, running and grabbing onto anything they could to not be left behind.

"They're leaving now, sir! You must get on!" Jaygus said, nearly pushing Ky forward and through the mass of people. The soldier loading people on grabbing Kiske's arm, nodding in affirmation, hoisting him up, then Jaygus, and then another civilian.

The wheels of the other two MTs started turning, following the one that had already left, it being ahead by only a good few hundred meters. As Jaygus was lifted on board, he heard the scream of a man that was identifiable in a moment, the muffled sound of too many chins and not very tall, the arrogance gone for pure fear; it was Oppem. Jaygus turned, seeing the fat man, flustered in his face and holding his notepad as always, holding out a grubby hand to be helped on board, screaming U.N. rhetoric that if he were left, it would be the end of the Seikishidan, yadda yadda. Jaygus turned, not helping him, but heard another soldier grab his hand and hoist him in, Jaygus inwardly feeling disgusted that the man would force out families and space for children, innocents, for his own worthless life.

Ky was quickly jostled around inside, moved forward by the few soldiers amongst the civilians inside and they seemed to act like a coneyor belt, pushing him to the front, Jaygus behind, trying to fit between the hundreds of "civies" in the MT.

As I said when I first introduced the MT, they were troop transports. They had two sides, each having one-hundred seats, total of two hundred soldiers, and two drivers in the forward compartment, total two-hundred-and-two people. They must have had four-hundred-and-fifty on there. A bit over capacity limit.

Ky could hear the screams of civilians and people, pleading to God to be let on, but they just couldn't fit. As the MT pulled away, he could hear the double doors in back violently being shut as their speed picked up, the surge of following people unable to keep up. The only thought that could surge through his head is that all of the soldiers they left…fighting on the edges of the city so that they would have time and they could escape, get the civilians out, and even yet, they had three double-packed MTs, and they had to still leave a great deal of people. He felt sick to his stomach, wanted to vomit, and almost did, but choked it back down his throat.

Finally, he was at the entrance to the driver's cabin, seeing two dreary eyed men holding the steering wheel, looking at him imploringly. A gruff voice bounded over the radio system, situated on the upper panel of the MT among many switches and lights. The voice was unmistakable in its obedience and imploring nature.

"Sir, what do we do? Where do we go?" Rivarez asked from another MT. Ky picked up the paddle of the radio, holding it to his face, thinking for a moment, the bumps throwing the entire cabin and crying symphony behind him into another scream and his own sword, which he had sheathed somewhere in his run to the front, rumbling at his side. He turned to see Oppem approaching to the curses of a few whom he pushed out of the way.

"Mr. Kiske! This is an outrage! You were attacked and look at this mess! You're going to be gone, out!" he said with a furious demeanor, the fat cheeks rosy red with his run to the MT and still catching his breath in quick, but large gasps of the humid and hot air inside the stuffed cabin. But, Atlas had no response. He opened his mouth to say something, then shut it…unable to say anything, the image of the closing doors to the hundreds of people left in the field outside of Lyon lingering in his mind. How could he have left them, why…how could it have happened…the death, leaving innocents to just fight an innumerable force they couldn't win, that they would all be dead in a matter of minutes. Rivarex asked again on the radio, with a bit more of an imploring tone, hoping that his C.O. was on the other side.

"You heard him, what do we do!" Oppem asked, pushing his glasses up his face again.

"You're in charge" Ky said in utter defeat to the sigh and nod of disappointment to Jaygus, a few heads back and out of Kiske's viewing range, but he heard. Ky couldn't take it, Jaygus knew it…how, when those lives were lost and the world he held up on his shoulders shattered, how he just couldn't hold it, and he didn't know what to do. Even Jesus had his falters.

"We…we…I…" Oppem faltered, stuttering and fumbling with his notepad, trying to decide. He wasn't a man who was used to deciding, and he couldn't, he was just a snitch for the U.N., and even though he was in "command" for his ranking in the U.N., he didn't know the first thing to do when in command. He was shoved to the side by a familiar face in a familiar black suit, as Gestahl made his way to the front.

"Adam Gestahl…I hadn't known you were on board this MT." Ky said for a moment, trying to find words.

"Indeed, I found a hard time out of the city, but I wasn't without the help of a few brave souls of your men, Mr. Kiske." He said, running his hand through his thinning hair. "What to do, Hans?" he said, turning to short and rotund man who was still jumbled in his words, unable to say anything. Finally, he broke into speech after the hardened eyes of Gestahl and Kiske.

"We've got to…get out of here, go somewhere, get help, to the nearest city!"

"…Are you sure?" Gestahl asked timidly, over the roar of the overstuffed cabin.

"Yes! To the nearest city! That's an order! We'll get help there and kill the Gears following us!" Gestahl only reached up with his hand, rubbing his tired eyes, looking to Kiske.

"Do you know what the nearest city is?" he said mournfully and slowly.

"Yes…Neo-Troy." Ky said flatly.

**_-X- Author's Notes –X-_**  
- Zeronova's Notes:  
- And this chapter only took FOREVER to actually get posted. I lost 36-41 when my story got deleted, so I retooled it with the new aesthetics for the first Arc (and renamed it Desolate Gail: Redux, which is just Dual Enmity + Spiffy New Looks), I'm retooling the second arc, and now every chapter will be perfect before posting. Also, I rewrote 36-40, then I found the files I lost on a remote Geocities server. Talk about wasted effort. I like the originals better anyway, and I had to rewrite the second half of this chapter. By the way, did you notice that last line in this chapter?  
**_-X- End Author's Notes –X-_**


	42. Arc 2: No more options

**_-X- Introduction -X-_**_  
- Desolate Gail: Redux  
- Started on: 5-17-2004 / Posted on-: 4-4-2005 / Checked on: Not Applicable  
- By: Zeronova  
- Chapter 42: No more choices_

_- _Text: Third person, Narration  
- _Text_: First person, Thoughts  
- **Text**: Interjection, the Narrator**__**

-X- End Introduction -X-

"How's it feeling?" a feminine voice said, knocking Darton from his light sleep. He opened his eyes to find Bianca sitting in front of him, the invading morning sunlight rushing in around her frame, as if no obstacle would stop it from getting to and waking Darton, as it did so often.

"Not 'good morning' or 'how're you', but 'how's it feeling'?" he mocked her with a slight smile.

"Fine then, bleed on my floor." He looked down at his hip as she said this, realizing the gauze bandaging was dyed red and damp, a bit of beads precipitating on the outside of it, and falling off to the ground.

"Oh..." he said slightly as she nodded with an I-told-you-so look in her eyes.

"I don't have the bandaging here, so we gotta go on a little walk, see?"

"Fun."

"I'll give you something to put on it to not bleed on whatever you throw on, but it might get messy, especially with a bit of extra walking and blood pumping."

"I'll just put whatever it is you give me on there tight and hold it there."

"Fine. Anyway, we've got to go to this one shop I know, it's where get all my A.A. junk, assuming I don't steal it while I'm there."

"Get what you need here for a price, and when you get there, load up for free and bring it back to not go back."

"Correct. Don't need to be paying those ass-high prices that Thelma's got going when I can snag it at the battle site, but times like these, I've got to buy them from her."

"So, how far away is it?"

"It's by the gates, west side."

"Not too far."

"You're starting to learn Troy."

"Well, I should if I live here."

"Yeah, yeah, let's get moving, 'kay?" They both got dressed into clothes that weren't blood stained, Darton with the help of Bianca to get a shirt over his head, and approached the door of the apartment. Darton looked over at his sword that Bianca placed back in the far corner, as it usually stood there, it's one blunt, straight side facing him, while the three monster-like bites out of the other end faced the wall, each bite slowly arcing backward more until the third bite touched the back blunt end to form a stabbing point. He walked over, with Bianca, grabbed it, and used it as a cane to walk on his own. Bianca asked him if he was sure, to which he gave a solemn nod, and they were on their way.

Down the familiar metal stairs on the side of Bianca's apartment, and into the T crossway of streets that her building sat on, through the crowds and throngs of people, buying, selling, walking around aimlessly, looting, the whole daily deal, and then out into the open. Past the big concentration of people, stores, and general life was left with a pretty barren lower Troy. A few vagabonds and homeless lined the streets, people were seen and heard inside homes and shops, but if there was anyone to be found, they'd be at their nearest market place. **Three big centers on the lower side of Troy, one being by Bianca, the other two kind of spread out to other places. I don't have much information on the other districts, since no one in Troy went anyone beyond their own district. It was kind of an unwritten rule. You weren't welcome in the other districts, even if no body could tell you weren't from their district, since it was all the same basically, there was a sense of belonging and familiarity that kept people bound to certain ones they lived by. But, there were three big ones.**

The walk was kind of slow, Bianca's pace veering ahead slightly by her inability to be calm and just walk slowly for too long, looking back to realize Quint couldn't keep up, then slowing to walk side by side with him. The tip of his sword clicked on the ground with every step, using it for a cane of sorts, the tip digging into the tar immeasurably so he could prop himself further another step from his punctured hip. The dry echo of the click of the sword on the ground rang through both of their ears, closer and more vibrant than the dulled and indiscernible noise of the crowds behind them, mashed together as one big cacophonous sound as the distance lengthened.

"No stop at Zimmerman's today?" Darton asked with a slight smirk.

"Nah...I think I need to give him a little bit of time before I go in and see him again. You too."

"Maybe, but you know how it is with people and me. We usually don't mix too well."

"Depends. I think he's got a better opinion of you now."

"But there's always a linger with him. I can just feel it in his voice and shit, y'know?"

"That's Zimmerman, you get used to him."

"I'm not yet."

"Give it time. He's been adjusting to you, you should too. Especially after that whole bounty hunter incident yesterday...you better be counting those angels who are watching over you."

"They're probably fake anyway. God's not too nice to me on the whole."

"Eh...not much talk of Him here, but let's just get moving then, alright? I'm not a nice girl and a patient one when I don't have my cup of coffee in the morning." They continued on for a few minutes, until Darton started talking again.

"You know they didn't have coffee in the Seikishidan?" Bianca kept walking, hands now in her pockets as Darton walked along, the click of his makeshift cane in perfect rhythm with the last.

"I couldn't live like that."

"It's a luxury. You'd adapt without it, if you weren't accustomed to getting it."

"Maybe, but I wouldn't like to."

"Yeah, things sure were different with the Seikishidan..." Quint trailed off, the click keeping him from totally day dreaming, and his having to force his body to walk, every other step jogging his memory back to reality with the slight twinge of pain brought on by the hole in his hip, right next to (and probably grazed, leaving a few bone fragments floating in sinew) his pelvis.

"Go on." she said, walking straight, looking at Darton with a smile.

"Huh?"

"What was different? I like hearing ya talk, Darton. You're good at it."

"I never thought I was, didn't really have anyone to talk to, or wanted to. It was all business in the Seikishidan...well, no, it wasn't. It was just tougher for someone like me to be able to make a few friends and people to talk to when I hated the current commander. And, there were those like me, but even they had some moral belief in something. God, or maybe fighting Gears, or saving some loved ones...but nope, I was completely out of the loop for that junk, so I kind of sat around, every day, fight in the battles, sleep in that same damn cot, day after day. I actually counted all the dimples in the ceiling."

"...Is that so? Did you name them while you were at it?"

"A few more years and I might have." A chuckle was shared between them, before Darton kept talking, Bianca listening to him while looking forward along the streets, turning up at the next one or going straight, looping around an intersection or what not, Quint following with his words slowly seeping out to cover the both of them in the sound of it bouncing back in the narrow streets. At a few points, Darton just talked to talk...to hear his voice bounce back at him, to not have his vocal chords stop, afraid of the silence and if he stopped talking, what then?

"Hmm...what else?"

"I dunno, you've been talking an hour now, y'know," she said with a slight smile.

"Well, yeah. Better than not."

"No, I didn't mean it like that. I just didn't realize you had that much to say. Get someone to talk to, and you just don't stop, eh Quint?"

"Who knows? I don't look and judge myself; I just act on how I know to. If I try and rationalize and quantify myself and actions, hell, I'm a goddamn number or something. I just act how I know to and what my gut tells me, no use in analyzing why I do what I do or anything like that, because it won't change it, and I like myself exactly how I am anyway."

"Sounds like a good way to look at life."

"It's the only thing I've kept constant my entire life. Do what feels right."

"I'd drink to that one."

"Coffee?"

"Sure, after we hit the shop."

"Sounds like a good way to look at life." he mocked, repeating her words to her inquisitive glance. "Getting a coffee a day, I mean." he added at the blow the look had dealt him. She shrugged and kept walking. They finally came to the front gates of the city, the Westward facing gates large, and sitting at a total of two-hundred feet high. The gate had a line down the center, where it would normally open outward, center of the two pieces having a large pillar at the top of each that sat right next to each other when closed. Each pillar had a large wire hooked to the top of the pulley to a generator housed somewhere on some building that would yank the thick wires and move the gates outward, coupled with a few contraptions and what not lining the wall and ground floor all around the gate. The Troy MT that they used on excursions was sitting in a small garage on the opposite side of the street, a thick fence around it and housed inside the carved out remnants of a solid building, so that the MT was perfectly protected from the lower city scum, as well as from the elements.

Quint and Bianca walked past the large gate, a bit of bustle around it with the few shops and morning sun beating down a somewhat joyous day ahead, the kind of morning sun that makes you want to get up and enjoy life. A few shopkeepers yelled out items and prices to them as they walked by, both ignoring them, and heading to the small A.A. product shop, the destination of their trip.

* * *

"Neo-Troy...please come in. I repeat, Neo-Troy...please come in." Ky said, leaning into the driver's compartment. He had the small radio in his hands, linked to the center console by a black curly wire, his rough gloves and his frazzled hair, the sweat dried out of it, covering over his eyes that looked into the distance. The two drivers were doing their prescribed job of driving, the cabin slightly stale of its air and stinking of sweat as the two men controlled the physically draining vehicle. The large windshield in front of them showed a speck off in the distance over the horizon, knowing the dot to be Troy. They had angled their MTs to it and made sure to be there.

"They will not respond." Gestahl said behind Ky. Atlas looked back at Gestahl, with a look that said it all, then turned back to the cabin's view on the horizon.

"Neo-Troy, this is Ky Kiske of the Seikishidan. We request safety in Neo-Troy. Please, come in. God, help me...Neo-Troy, come in!" He screamed into the radio, the weary eyes and people in the stuffed MT looking to the front around and above the people obstructing one's view to try and see Ky Kiske, standing in the doorway to the only source of outside light they could get at the front of the MT, filtering around his body, and blotted out by the many people surrounding him.

"Mr. Kiske, we need to find out something to do. We are closing quick on this city and..."

"And nothing. That Oppem U.N. dog gave me the order to go Troy, and I must obey, right?"

"Not always are the U.N. correct, you must know that already." Ky looked at Gestahl once more, his eyes imploring. He was fed up with the politics, fed up with the death, unable to decide for himself once more or make that world-deciding decision and lead to victory or fall to it all, he simply succumbed to following an order, and Gestahl sighed slightly at that defeat. He was no longer the leader or the salvation of humanity, he was a 16-year-old kid who was doing what he was told because he couldn't make that decision for himself anymore.

"Neo-Troy, please, come in! Answer me!"

"No." the radio response came out of the small black radio paddle he was holding in his hands.

"Hello? Neo-Troy!" he screamed almost ecstatically, the words being heard through out the silent compartment, save the rattling of the wheels underneath and the tensed breaths of everyone in the MT.

"We do not allow access to Neo-Troy from anyone, what so ever. Also, do not use this frequency again, it is for the K.I.A. lists. Thank you," the authoritative voice said, clicking off.

"Listen to me! Neo-Troy!" silence met Ky, and he grunted softly. "Listen to me..." he trailed off, almost into a whisper. "We've come from Lyon. We took back Lyon a few weeks ago, and then the Gears attacked us, they took back that city, and drove us out. Now, all we have are three MTs that fled, one was damaged on the retreat, and is making poor time, the other two will be reaching Neo-Troy within the hour. We request assistance. Please." Nothing.

"We're carrying women...children, families, everything. Not just soldiers, but we're carrying everything; we're carrying with us the very soul of humanity's own survival. You must aid us." Silence met him on the radio, and he sniffed for a second, wiping his eyes with his glove, trying to make the tears that formed gone before they even slightly existed, not baring to let anyone know that they were there, especially not the hundreds behind him who were standing queue to his every move and breath.

"...Please, help us. Neo-Troy, I am asking your assistance. In the name of God. Not for the U.N. or Seikishidan...but for one human to the other. We would be swarmed and killed by Gears if you leave us here to die, and if that should happen, and we all die, the Gear force following us will attack Troy as well. Troy has stood for many years, but against what follows us...it won't last." Silence came back to him. He closed his eyes and took a moment, breathing heavily, his breath and morale shattering, a few gasps and slight cries in his voice, but coughing to seriousness. "Your walls won't stand against these Gears...and they will kill you all, especially once we bash this MT through your walls." There was a gasp of the few people behind him at the whispered words, and a silence on the radio. He was about to talk again when a voice shut him up.

"We will not let you in, even upon that threat. You cannot destroy our walls."

"I don't want to have to, but I will. My intention is to save these people, to make sure they stay alive, and to not let them just die when I didn't do my job as being their protector. I have to do everything I can to make sure I save them, even if that includes ramming into your city. Do you understand me?"

"We will not open our gates for foreigners."

"Then we will open them. Ky Kiske, out." Atlas set the radio back on the front console, the two drivers looking at him bewildered. "Radio the other MTs, tell them to follow our lead. We'll break first, they'll come in behind us." He looked into the eyes of the soldiers who had seemed like they saw a ghost. "Snap out of it, I'm serious. When we get close enough to the city, I want you to floor this MT, then retreat with us into the back." The soldiers gulped and nodded, one whispering to the other "he's crazy", the other one shrugging and grabbing the wheel again.

Ky turned to face the crowd behind him, mothers clutching their families in wide arms and soldiers waiting to hear the words Ky had to say.

"You heard me, we're forcing our way into Troy. When we get close enough, I will open the back hatches of the MT and the hydraulics, and we jump off before this thing hits the walls. Then, we run inside through the hole. Got it?" There was a huge explosion of yells and screams, people talking and all of the sound bounded back to hit Ky in the face. "Quiet!" he yelled, silencing them all to hear him once more. "I know it doesn't sound good and right...but this is the best we can do."

"My family is here with me! I will not sacrifice them for this stupid idea! Why don't we just drive somewhere else!" a man screamed in the back, Ky unable to see who it was, but responding all the same.

"Because we can't keep running. These Gears won't stop. Back there...I saw something. In the eyes of those Gears, I saw Justice." He stopped for a moment, taking a breath, noticing his words echoing off of the metal frame back at him, the bumps in the road nothing to his weighty linguistics. "I saw Justice...and I saw that in those eyes, of that beast, it wanted me dead. It wanted you dead, sir, it wanted your family dead. Justice will never stop, these Gears won't tire, and we cannot run forever. We will have to make a stand and fight, and these Gears...they'll not stop until you're dead, until you, your wife, your children, lie around you in their own blood. I do not want that, and neither do you. Justice has plans...he wants us dead, he wants our very existence, our humanity to become extinct, the embers of humanity left, the few cities standing, us in these MTs, to be stamped out, to be gone from history and this Earth."

"I will not let that happen, and my decisions reflect that. Whether or not you agree doesn't concern me, because right now, it is my decision. I was ordered to retreat to Troy..." he sighed, taking a breath and closing his eyes, then opened and continued "...and I'll be damned if I do not do what is right to save my soldiers and my people." His words made a few women gasp, people shifted in their seats and the air, the echo of his words lingering in the ears of those around him, and the very feeling he exuded gave that feeling he was aiming for. He turned back to the cabin, the few whispers and murmurs of the people behind him being blocked out of his hearing.

"Let me see what you've got, Troy.." he mumbled, seeing the sand-stone walls slowly approaching off the horizon, the two-hundred foot high walls never penetrated and the metallic substances littered all over the first fifty feet up lined with stabs and scrapes, where Gears tried getting up but couldn't latch on and the top floors destroying them before they could even try and bash their ways in. "To do what no Gear has done, is a man's job to destroy the walls erected by man...I hope you favor me now God, I could use your help...help me now. Lift this weight from my shoulders, the entire world off of it, if for a moment, and give me the strength to do what I must." The two drivers who heard his mumbling prayer, from Ky's leaning position into the driver's compartment, both said an exhausted "amen" as Ky did. He didn't expect them to, but when he said it, they did too. He was stunned for a moment, then smiled slightly, seeing one of them turn back to him to give Ky the affirmative and steadfast nod of "I trust you". Ky nodded back, and looked again at the approaching walls.

**_-X- Author's Notes –X-_**  
- Zeronova's Notes:  
- A fairly short chapter, but man...this was HEAVY on the drama. I also loved the entire Ky scene here, all the tension and character building and what not...I mean, it was poetic in a few places, if I do say so myself, and we're starting to see the events that really bring Arc II around. Get ready, it's about to get ugly.  
**_-X- End Author's Notes –X-_**


	43. Arc 2: Surreal

**_-X- Introduction -X-_**_  
- Desolate Gail: Redux  
- Started on: 5-17-2004 / Posted on-: 4-11-2005 / Checked on: Not Applicable  
- By: Zeronova  
- Chapter 43: Surreal_

_- _Text: Third person, Narration  
- _Text_: First person, Thoughts  
- **Text**: Interjection, the Narrator****

**_X- End Introduction -X-_**

Their speed was topping at about sixty miles per hour, the pedals depressed and held in place by extra Seikishidan swords, propped into the chair and angled to hold down the pedal. The switches had been flipped to keep it on and straight, the wheels had been tied straight by cloth, and the two soldiers tied the knot tighter, nodded and ran out of the driver's cabin. Ky Kiske stood over them, watching to make sure it got done. They jumped past him, wiping sweat off of their brow, Ky standing firm in the connecting passage of the driver's cabin to the main cabin. He looked out of the glass plate in front of him at the rapidly approaching wall of Troy. He should have jumped out along with the rest, but there was something that wouldn't allow him to leave.

_I will not allow a soldier to die that I couldn't save..._ The names and faces of soldiers who he vaguely tried to remember, the dead ones who had been slain in front of him, flooded his memory, putting more determination to not leave until he got the drivers out. They filed past him, his last look, then he followed their dodging sprint out of the MT. The MT had one large double-door at the back, and a hydraulic side-panel door every twenty-five seats on each side (each side having a hundred total). They had been opened a few minutes prior, over-riding the manual lock. Soldiers and families had bailed in the previous minutes, jumping out of whatever door was closest to them, be it the back or a hydraulic panel of the MT itself.

The wind whipped inside from the many openings, the hydraulic panels skidding along the dirt ground as the MT sped along. The two drivers found the closest hatch and tossed themselves out, curling their body for impact and rolling. Ky stood, grabbing both sides of the doorway, looking back into the cabin and the vague yellow of the approaching sand stone, took a deep sigh, and jumped off. Dirt kicked up and weeds were lining the edges of the panel as it derooted a lot of the surrounding-Troy flora, the clods kicked up in his face and leaving a dark brown trail in the wake of the MT. Hundreds of feet back were the rolling drivers, and even further were recuperating families, gathering their young, looking at wounds, and the soldiers, easily distinguishable in their crimson-stained white uniforms, herding them like cattle and running after the MT. Another sigh, and Ky was off.

He leaped out, curling his head and turning to his shoulder. He hit the ground hard, rolling as he did, bits of the carved out soil dirtying his uniform, the already stained white gaining a few more hues to its growing collection of fabric discolorment. He grunted heavily as his shoulder hit first, rolling to a stop some twenty or thirty feet later. He was slightly disoriented, standing with a falter first, then finding the MT in the distance, closing in on its target. The pads of feet running up behind him soon surpassed him as soldiers hurried families, fathers and mothers calling out names of children to hurry, scooping them up and running faster, the soldiers keeping pace around. A soldier came close to grab Ky Kiske and help him up. The hand around his arm lifted him, a slight grunt from Ky as he swung it in an arc to work out the kink, looking at the soldier who helped him up. The head of the soldier immediately popped up and he saluted.

"Rivarez, we have got to get moving. Enough of the brown nosing, this means more than that."

"Yes, sir." he said almost emotionally. "Do you require assistance in getting to Troy now?"

"Move!" Ky screamed at the soldier whose eyes still seemed affixed to something sitting above Ky's head, possibly a halo. Atlas only muttered, shaking his head, and turning to follow the sprinting crowd of over three hundred, following in the trails of the large wheels of the MT. Up ahead, the MT finally hit its target.

* * *

"They really got the better of your wallet." Darton said, looking into Bianca's white satchel. It had a red emblazoned A.A. on the front, the stitching perfect and the white un-tainted, her tote bag for the sneaking missions perfectly official. All of the required items were back; the prescribed amount of gauze wrap, five patches, the spindle of suture, the three syringes and countless bottles of medication. "She charged all that for this? It was free if you wanted to go slum in the med station back in Paris. They had crates of this crap." 

"That's a Seikishidan base, this is Troy. It's not like our worlds have a little meeting and venture point. They're out there, we're here. Even items like these are scarce here, we can't just get it here, which is why it is so much. In plus, the real cost really was what I had to use on that." she said, pointing at Darton's hip, him leaning on his sword on his bad side.

"Well, you know how it is with me. I'm a magnet for trouble," he said with a small smirk. She had a light chuckle also, and they started walking out back where they came. The streets by the entrance had a moderate amount of people, the gates facing westward, but they had turned to a trickle. A short amount of time, maybe an hour, was spent inside as Bianca remembered the required amounts and Darton lazily sat in a provided chair and caught a few z's. It seemed the people had gotten out of their morning stupors, and finally found their ways to the busy trading hubs of the city, making the walk back into Bianca's apartment even worse, thought Darton. He took a few steps from the building, Bianca in tow, the light click of the tip of his sword like an eerie reminder of why he had it. The echo rumbled off of the buildings slightly, and a few more clicks later, there was a different rumble. He took another step, hearing his own echo slightly deepened with the resonating sound, his good arm reaching out to stop Bianca, who was scouring through her bag as she walked. Her head popped out like a gopher from the ground, scanning, then turned to Darton, about to yell something, before he made a violent _shh_. He clicked his sword on the ground again, the resonating noise even deeper...and the rumble now able to be felt, under his feet, around him, in the air he breathed.

"...Shit." he said in a whisper. He looked over to Bianca, who only responded with a look of a thousand questions, before he grabbed his sword tightly, his resting position on it changed to a fighting grip and leaped backwards, grabbing Bianca in his free arm, landing back by the small shop to the side of the gates. Almost with perfect precision and timing, the gates cracked inward, the sandstone rippling off a layer of dust that shot out of the few exposed cracks immediately in a plume, blotting out the sun temporarily, causing a cough to all who breathed in the orange cloud. Moments after the dust storm, the walls groaned and creaked like a tortured animal, the rumbling continuing and becoming synonymous with a deafening thunder and chug, before the wall finally gave way, pieces of sandstone falling to the ground in large chunks, adding to the rumble and kicking up more dust, the worn stones on the bottom of Troy nestled free and flying in every which way by the boulders. The sides of the cracks seemed to lengthen, buckling outward, and cocooning a stabbing utensil, before finally splitting and falling around into small debris and worthless pieces of the now separated stone.

The MT burst through the walls with little trouble, continuing its forward motion, a few bystanders caught in the instant plume taken underneath the MT. It finally stopped once it hit the foundation of a condemned building, bashing through more than its entire length, more dust shot outward. The rubble caved in on the MT, the building above shuddering for a minute second, swaying in the wind before being held back by a tether, but it had a noticeable angle to it now, a foundation base removed from it. The MT was crushed by the loosened stones of the old boot for the sky scraper, the wheels heard groaning against the cement and still turning slowly, going nowhere, and finally stopping as the engine ceased to function.

The hole left in the wall was stable for a moment, the dust settling, people standing up to see what it was all. It was over and ended so quickly as the behemoth smashed through the gates and plummeted into the base of the building, and was then gone, caved in by the old bricks of the equally old building. Then, another groan, of cracks continuing, the splitting of stone and the identifiable stitching sound of cracks elongating and forming veins, spreading over. The two large sandstone gates felt the fingers of death creep up on them and around them, small stones falling off with every new crack, the original hole left growing larger and larger. Finally, the gates both fell inward, both of them toppling inward on top of each other, the Outer Wall's walkways crippling, falling into pieces and the metal rails ripped from each other, the suited upper-city folk screaming in terror, dropping their briefcases as they cascaded around their documents and classified files, crushed under the debris that formulated around them. More dust was blown into the air as both walls fell, the two hundred foot high and countless foot long gates now rubble boulders at the feet of Troy. The outer panels of steel and mixed metals were somewhere under the huge pile of trash, some of it lying on the streets from where the MT carried it in.

Darton stood up slowly, coughing and using his sword to balance himself. His coughs came sporadically as his eyes watered, the orange dust settling only after a few minutes, his hearing only allowing him the temporary deafness that accompanied destruction, the thronging nothingness that had the metronomical beat of insanity laced into the ability to not hear. He felt Bianca's hand on his shoulder as he stood, looking back to confirm to her he was there. A few Troy residents stood, screaming out names of loved ones or wondering what happened, the scene of destruction and orange rock in front of them like sheep looking apathetically and stupidly at something new to them, as this very much so was to a Troy citizen.

The destruction slowly had a murmur spreading as people came to the sound of it, walking, forming a circle around the destroyed opening gates that spread over four hundred feet in length, a bit of blood pooling underneath a few boulders where some body lie. They all gasped and whispered in unison all together in wondrous awe.

It was the first time they had ever seen the outside.

**Most Troy dwellers never got to go on those coveted excursion trips. You needed a lot of visas and passports and checks, so that the Troy higher-ups knew you weren't going to just leave as soon as you got out of Troy, and tell the outside world all about the secrets of Troy. Like there were much living on the shit hole ground floor, but their paranoia overrode everything else, and only a few were ever let out, Bianca included. Also, those on the top floor always got their ability to view the outside, but the ground dwellers never did. Their lives consisted of industrialized bricks and cement, gray houses and even duller skies, blotted out by the steel demons that towered over their heads. They had nothing to look out to, no horizon, living on the ground floor, and to look up into the stars for guidance or to wonder what else was above was also meaningless. The upper city blocked out most everything, and one saw more buildings than they did sky. To those ground dwellers, this was the frist time they had ever seen it.**

The rustling grass under a light breeze, the sky in the background with a few lulling clouds hanging over the sun, making the day able to be seen out to the horizon and farther without being blinded, and the clawing up of dirt around the tracks and destruction left in the missile MT's wake. It was like wounds to Eden, showing its blood under the ripped out roots and dirt lying in two lines as far as the eye could see, the green grass and weeds around it swaying in its uncut, naturistic way, untouched by human hands. A few small trees sat around on the low hills of the Italian-French border, a few small brooks and little water holes left in where the lit up sky sparkled over them that made the illusion of diamonds sitting, waiting to be grabbed by those who would brave venturing into Elysium.

Then, they saw it. Over the beautiful scene of God's favoritism of green came the rags of gray and yellow, hanging from families of men, women, and children, running to the now destroyed entrance to Troy, the once two-hundred foot wall keeping everything out lying at their feet, at about twelve or fifteen feet high of the stacked rubble and strewn out in every direction from the impact. Amidst the ragged people were men and women in white; men running with swords that reflected the light off in blinding arrows and the women with their A.A. bags flapping over their hurrying legs, all with agape mouths like caverns, sucking in air and rushing harder to salvation of the boulders of sandstone.

The people came rushing in, jumping over boulder, falling on top of the heap and clawing over it, throwing themselves over the barrier that stood in the way, salvation but feet away. The bottom dwellers of Troy grabbed the oncoming, wet with sweat and exhaustion from the run and looks of fear and rampant confusion in both crowds, but they embraced each other. The outsiders falling into the insiders, the insider helping them to their feet to examine and question them, to which the questions found only the tearful songs of joy and prayer that they were finally safe, hugging children and kissing their nameless and confused benefactors. Then came in the Seikishidan soldiers, looking over the scene as instantly, the crowd amassed seemed to hiss all at once and writhe away from them, as oil does from water.

Ky Kiske was the last over the heap, standing on top of it all, surveying the scene in front of him as his soldiers, his A.A.'s, his people melted into the crowd, the sobbing and confusion meeting his ears. His eyes looked over them all, seeing this so-called enemy of the U.N., enemy of the Seikishidan, and enemy of God, the isolated city and its people. The confused eyes looked back at him as a nameless enemy, and vice versa, but he had seen through some of the force-fed bullshit the U.N. had thrown him. These weren't the enemy, the enemy was trailing them, the Gears, and these were people like him. Then, his eyes locked on one man, leaning on a sword, a woman next to him with an A.A. bag slung over one shoulder.

"...No." he whispered in disbelief, his shoulders dropping for a moment, as if he had seen Jesus himself. Darton's hair was long and ragged, a brown mop on his head and he looked beaten like the savior, leaning on the sword like it was a makeshift cross, but he was no Christ.

"...Kiske." Darton seethed, a stabbing wince of pain coming in his hip as he said the name low and bitterly.

"You're...Quint Darton," he said mildly, the crowd looking at each other, whispering as to what he meant.

"Yeah." Quint said, stepping forward, the light click of his sword as he did. The crowd fell silent as he did, all intent on hearing the conversation. Ky stepped down from the sandstone heap, a few rocks turned loose as his boots tread down the side, his eyes unblinking and unmoving as he walked up to Darton, looking him in the face over, Darton's eyes looking away for a brief moment before locking back to the Commander. Ky reached out to try and touch Darton, to make sure he was real, possibly put his hand on his shoulder, but Darton stepped back, Ky nodding and his hand falling back to his side.

"You're dead, I saw you die...right in front of me."

"Seems God didn't want me to die." he said disdainfully.

"...Did you have hope?" Ky whispered, remembering the last words up on Floor F.

"No."

"...Faith?" He seemed to have a stutter before every word, his breath in his lungs to say something, thinking of what to say, on his lips before he let it out to be heard.

"No."

"...How?"

"I had something better." he said, smiling slightly. "I had someone who had faith and hope in me." Bianca stepped forward, looking at Ky for a brief moment before he looked at her face with a scrutinizing eye. He knew her too; he could remember the face, but not a name.

"You're..." he said, pointing a lazy finger at her, then seeing the A.A. bag, he put the pieces together in his mind.

"I'm faith and hope." she said with a sarcastic smirk. The tense moment was instantly ruined by the low rumble of the second MT approaching and the screams of soldiers emptying the bowels of the truck, escorting people off by force and trying to eviscerate the metal shell that transported them from Lyon as fast they could to get into the streets of Troy.

"If you'll excuse me," Ky said with a humble bow and gesture, looking at Darton for another moment, before turning to proceed back up the hill. One step up, and he stopped, turning his head again. "I mourned your death, like you said. The nameless, faceless soldiers...I mourned them too. They died for purposes. So did you." Kiske nodded, pulling out a golden cross on a small chain from under his shirt, holding it in the sun for a second, Quint;s eyes adjusting on it then realizing and remembering what it was. Ky kissed it, tucking it back into his shirt, took another step forward, then turned at the sound of a familiar voice.

"You're wrong to come here. You shouldn't be here, but go, save those that you can. We'll finish this later." Darton said, nodding to the oncoming women, holding up their children for soldiers, standing on top of the heap to grab and toss over to other soldier, grabbing the hands of people who couldn't make it up, pulling them over, a helpful hand to those who couldn't climb over the hill of salvation. Kiske nodded, running to help out his fellow white-robed soldier, grabbing the right hand of a rotund lady, the other her left, and lifting her to the top of the hill, grabbing a child by a parent who held the boy up next, then helping that parent up.

* * *

"Sir, what are we going to do?" Jaygus asked slowly, working out a crink in his back as he leaned backwards. Ky was sitting on a small chunk of sandstone, his head between his hands, wet with sweat and wiping his wet bangs from their flattened position on his face. 

"I say the Gears are...about fifteen hours behind us. We made unbelievable time in our escape, they have a speed of...I'd say twenty-five miles per hour, we were pushing sixty the entire time, we easily got double time on them, but they're coming. I know they are."

"Of course, but what?"

"You should ask the commanding officer." Ky said with a smirk that caught Jaygus off guard. Surrounding Atlas were his most high-ranking officials, including Rivarez and whatever other sergeants that could be mustered from the ranks. "Hans Oppem."

"...That man?" Jaygus asked tentatively.

"It was his decision to come to Troy. I am sick of being the one to go against what is said, knowing full and well what I do may be better, but the U.N. must have some idea what they're doing, right? I cannot be faulted for what happens here, considering this is Oppem's plan." Jaygus nodded at Ky's words, sullenly reminded of the brief, and violent, meeting he had with him in Lyon. As if on queue, the fat man pushed his way past a few Seikishidan soldiers, saying his name and rank to move them.

"Mr. Kiske, what do we do now?" he asked, his face flustered, dabbing it with a handkerchief to remove the sweat, his notepad and pen under one arm as usual. Ky stood up, towering over the older, shorter, balding, fat man, looking down into the beady eyes.

"Excuse me?" he stammered in a deep and perturbed voice. "You're in charge, right? You're leading this operation; we came here because of _you_. It is _your_ decision."

"...I..." Oppem stuttered, looking at the soldiers around him who all looked at him with the glance of hatred, then his eyes found Ky again, who reverberated that glance ten-fold. "I...respectfully give command of this mission over you, Mr. Kiske." he said, gulping, dabbing his head once more with his handkerchief. Ky's emotion didn't change, and he appeared as if he was a spitting image of Kliff; standing tall, strong, a determined look in his eyes and knowing exactly what to show, and his soldiers understanding. Oppem pushed through the ring of soldiers around Ky, excusing himself, then Ky sat back down with a slight smile.

"Now that that's taken care of..." he said with a slight chuckle, the soldiers around him chuckling also, except for Rivarez, continuing in a moment and a sigh "get the MT drivers, bring the trucks in front of the rubble. We'll make a small wall if we can, and we need to talk to the government around here. We're not going to get anywhere without them."

"I'll go." Jaygus said, stepping forward. Rivarez was quick to step up after Jaygus, seconding his notion.

"Good, you two, go get the Troy government in on this, we will need their help, that's for sure. The rest of you, start gathering the soldiers, getting intel, we don't have a lot of time."

"And you, sir?" Jaygus asked before leaving.

"I've got some business to take care of." Jaygus nodded slowly, understanding what he meant. "Dismissed." Ky said, standing up, saluting the group of sergeants, then they all dispersed like smoke to a fan. He stretched, looking out to the day, an hour gone from daylight from the time the MT bashed through the walls. He vaguely remembered the words told to him earlier, and then tried going where the directions given to him. The Troy dwellers parted as he walked by, a few poking him as he walked, touching his uniform, whispering names and rumors as he walked by, the mood of people still crowded around the opening to the outside world. The crowd had gotten larger, a few people talking to the outsiders, others getting on top of the rubble hill, walking around on the grass outside, and taking in all of the new things that had been brought to them with the crash of the MT an hour earlier. They wandered around like idiot lemmings, looking and holding the dirt in their hands, smelling it, tasting it, looking at the sky unblinkingly for minutes at a time.

The directions he received had him walking for a brisk twenty minutes, but he didn't mind. The sound of bustling soldiers, cleaning up, the roar of the two remaining MTs lining up, and the dull, cacophonic sound of people talking and chatting trailing the now empty streets. The large masses that had once occupied the business sections of the city had suddenly vanished, retreating home to hear the reports Troy was now broadcasting, or running to the gates by word of mouth, many people rushing by Kiske with sprinter's speed to see. He recalled the directions vaguely from the back of his head, trying to push the immediate, and almost impossible to put secondary, thought of Gears back to allow him a moment that had been dwelling on him since he first took a step into Troy.

After the long walk, he found his hand on a small metal latch welded onto the frame of a door, looking at the street he came from, retracing his steps, making sure this was it. He found himself on a street that had just intersected another road that had led, with a few twists, back to the entrance. Across on the intersecting street, finding himself on the T, he could see a metal escape-fire stairway, heavily used and leading up to a newly attached wood door standing out on the old building for its slight crookedness, despite the entire thing being crooked in one way or another.

He opened the door slowly, looking inside tentatively. A rotund and short man, whose face barely cleared the elevation of the counter that wrapped around him, a rag and a mug in his hands. The shopkeeper's eyes were dead set in hatred and he spit in a familiar copper pot in the corner of the shop with perfect aim, muttering "'Kishi'" before he turned to set the glass down and grab another.

"So you're here" Darton said with a smug satisfaction, sitting at a small linoleum table, two chairs on each side, the chair opposite from him with the woman Ky saw at his side earlier.

"I'll leave you be" Bianca said, standing up, grabbing her A.A. bag. "Don't be long," she said with a smile before turning and going out the door. She passed Kiske, looking at him in the eyes while her head was down, afraid to make eye contact but also magnetized to look at him, for he was Ky Kiske. She knew that he realized who she was, but it didn't matter now, considering he just basically destroyed the decades of tension between the two human nations, if one could call the Seikishidan and U.N. versus Neo-Troy that, with one MT going sixty plus.

"I remember her." he said slightly, standing still. "She helped close up the wound on my back."

"The one you got at the top of the warehouse, I remember." Quint said lightly, hearing Zimmerman file out of the room, muttering about going to get supplies in a back room. Ky walked forward, sitting down in the now unoccupied seat that Bianca had left, the scent of a woman and the heat left on the metal. Ky sat slowly, looking at Darton for a few moments, their eyes meeting in a stone set glare before speaking. Darton had one arm around back of the chair, in his lazy and casual manner, his hair covering his eyes that seemed to be unable to hold any sentiment other than defiance and maliciousness, born to be a rebel. Ky sat formal, not slouched, shoulders straight, and placed both of his hands on the table flat. There were two cups of untouched, steaming coffee in front of both of them, the scent filling both of their nostrils.

"I heard something else about that warehouse, from Jaygus." Darton turned his head, looking out at the people walking by the storefront to the direction of the gates. He knew what Kiske was going to say, but didn't want to say anything himself. "He told me you saved me. I remember...being hit, taking a blade, I reached back..." he said, trailing off, making the motion with his arm, touching the now scarring wound, bringing his hand back to his face, looking at his fingers "seeing the blood, smelling it...then I fell down and passed out. I thought I died, I saw Gear feet around me as I fell, unable to move or think, but I saw them around me, and then it went black. He told me that you jumped in before some Gear could stab me through, that you fended off the beasts that would add my name to the list of billions of deaths they have caused."

"Yeah, I did. So?"

"Still bitter." Ky said with a sigh of resignation. "The point is you saved me. I didn't even know until a few days ago...and it doesn't change what I did on Floor F. You shouldn't have done what you did, I stand firm by my decision on that, and I always had that moment playing back to me at night, wishing I could have held on harder to save one soldier whose life was worthy of it."

"I stand by my decision as well." Quint said without any tone.

"But, you're alive. My obvious question is how." He finished his sentence by taking a sip of the hot coffee as Darton spoke, wincing at the scalding his lips took, setting it down to let it cool by the passage of time.

"That Gear that broke the railing in the first place proved a nice cushion. From there, that A.A. found me, and she was one of those rumored fake A.A.'s who just pillage what they find. She took me back to Troy, and here I've been."

"You kept your word of going to Troy."

"I'm a man of honor, usually. I keep to what I promise."

"Speaking of...I have something." Ky reached into his uniform, pulling out an object, placing it on the table with a dull thud, sliding it across to Darton. Quint made no motion, no movement, the only visible sign he was alive being his eyes which widened slightly at the sight of it.

"...My knife." he whispered, picking it up.

"I kept it the entire time, since you died. You can have it back."

"Thanks." he muttered, stashing it somewhere on his hip with a little click of the sheath hooking to his belt.

"I have a lot of questions for you, Quint...I don't know where to start. Why did you want to die? After all of that? What made you punch me...to kill yourself?"

"It's none of your business, Kiske."

"It is my business, I am…was, your commanding officer. You were my soldier and I tried to save your life, but it seems I could not, but someone else did, maybe God. You're still alive, even after your death being flawless. Anyone would have died from that height, Gear or no Gear cushion."

"I don't argue with what happens, I just go along with it, in most cases."

"I...quit the crap, Darton. You've got as much to say as I do, don't try and be all cool and reserved." Darton chuckled slightly, Kiske calling his bluff, and he leaned forward over the table as well. "Why did you do that?"

"Fine, caught me red handed. You're right; I do have a few things to say. Firstly, it's a request."

"A request? What is it?"

"Leave. Leave Troy, do not ever come back." Ky's head moved back slightly, as if trying to hear the echo of the words again bounce at him to comprehend. "I came here, and got out of the Seikishidan...I started a new life, under K.I.A. just like you said. And, what happens? You come here...you bring soldiers, you have Gears on your tail, you destroy the very walls meant to keep you out."

"It wasn't my decision to come here, I was under orders of another."

"Don't bullshit with me, Ky. I'll be the first to admit I learned a lot about you, and you of me, back in Paris. It may not have all been good, but that's one of those soldier things, and you know damn well what I mean."

"The Soldier's Friendship, I know. Still, I was under my orders, and that's why I did what I did."

"And those you killed?"

"...Excuse me?"

"Do you think you didn't kill any Troy dwellers when you got here? You crushed five or six with that MT, but you seemed not to notice."

"...I was unaware."

"Once again Kiske, the lives wasted for your pursuits are paled in what really is worthwhile to you. You have your eyes stretched on the horizon, looking to the future, unable to see the bodies of those you tread over."

"...I learned something in Paris. I remembered faces, names, and I mean to. I have not let soldier die under me without trying to sympathize, without giving them their proper burials and blessings. You showed me that, that even a private, is a person. These soldiers...they are tools, just weapons I use, like Justice, but mine have life, souls. Gears are nothing but rotting extensions of Justice's deathly fingers. You were a soldier, a person. And, I see you now are."

"Cut to the chase, you want me to join the Seikishidan again, is that it?"

"That's your decision, I would be honored if you would, as well as you'd become a sergeant, per my recommendation." Ky said with civility.

"No, I live here now. I'm part of Troy."

"With that woman?" Ky asked.

"...Yes. Her name is Bianca."

"...Lovely name." he said after a brief pause.

"She brought me here, she basically got me a new life. I owe everything I have here to her, and I do not need you jeopardizing it. I found my way out of the Seikishidan, out of the war, and now I want to live my life how humans should. Away from the death and carnage, battling everyday, knowing it may be your last...I'm sick of that. I want to just simply live, look at that sunset for what it is, beautiful, not knowing that over it could lurk a horde of Gears, thirsty for blood."

"To attain that, the Seikishidan must exist, we must destroy those lurking Gears."

"Then you can, but I don't want to be a part of that now. I want to live, Ky. I want to be here, outside of that bullshit and day-in day-out loss. I told you on Floor F, I had no more reason, nothing left to avenge, nothing in me anymore. That's what this war does, it drains you...we fight the cursed Gears, they're devoid of what we have, humanity. But, in fighting them, I could feel my humanity taken from me, by drops of sweat and blood, it left me. I became nothing more than a tool, a nameless soldier, and I fought. I was even at Tibet, but you don't remember, on Purgatory..."

"I do not remember much of anything from Purgatory."

"We sat across from each other, you had a private uniform then, on that Chinese MT that smelled of rats. We cleaned off the vines that grew over it as well. Those Red Force Eight idiots never used the MTs, they just sat tight in their huts waiting for the Gears, not trying to go out and fight them head-on or build defenses, they sat around waiting to only be defensive."

"I remember that..."

"Well, we were together there, you were the nameless protégé of Kliff, as I was a nameless private fighting along side another nameless. I'm kind of veering off...my point is, I was truthful in what I said. I had nothing to live for, no life in me to live, it was gone, sapped from me. Bianca, that woman, she brought me to Troy, and I found life, I found something to live for and continue for. And, I also found with that, a new reason to fight, if I ever needed to. I enjoy living now, the peace of it...it's intoxicating, but it's also beautiful. It is what God wanted, for man to not be afraid of what night may hold, but to embrace it as he does daytime; not to be scared but to look onto the mysterious and evil and find its merits and what is good. But, you wouldn't know that...you're too dead-set in your rights and wrongs to have that change. You've nothing but your God-says of holy and evil, your steadfast beliefs, nothing will ever change them."

"That's wrong...that's very wrong, Darton. I have changed. I was new to the job when the Paris attack happened, I think I was hitting my three months mark, but no battles since Purgatory really happened, since Justice was relocating, so that Paris attack was my first leading. It failed, I know, and I'll never forget some of those faces that passed me by, I saw looking at me with valor and courage in the docking bay of Floor C to screaming with death and agony under Gear swords. They're never far out of my prayer and out of my mind, and neither were you. I never liked you, Darton, but that did not mean I would allow you to die. You were always on my side, you weren't a Gear."

"That's touching" Darton said sarcastically. Ky grunted, his words having no outward affect on the slick-skinned Darton, words running off of him like water to a blade.

"Still the same old Darton" Ky muttered in response.

"Same old Kiske. Bottom line, get out of Troy." he said flatly, not trying to insult or come off as pushy, simply stating matter of fact. They both had a level of civility between them that neither abused, their voices both staying within casual tones and neither doing anything to offend one another.

"I cannot. My troops are stationed here now, we took back Lyon, and the Gears stole it back after civilians moved in. We have three MT loads, packed to about four-fifty a piece, all here now. We've no where to go, and we can't keep running."

"And you've got those Gears that attacked Lyon coming here?"

"Yes."

"Great. And now that you destroyed the walls that keep them out, you handed Justice this city on a platter."

"Not if we fight for it. I'd fight for Troy to save my own kin in the process. Wouldn't you as well?"

"I...would fight, but not for the same reasons. Wouldn't you be fighting for God though?"

"God's in every place, even Troy, so I would be fighting for Him regardless. As long as you fight, I'll be content. I need all the good arms I can get in the next few hours, and I know you'd be up to par for the job." Ky said, finishing off his now cool cup of coffee. "I'd like to continue this conversation, but I've got other matters to attend to, like your new government." He gazed at Darton for a moment, seeing the cogs turn in his head and thinking, remembering something else. "One more thing, this coffee is excellent, pass my word on to the owner of this shop."

"My new government is full of assholes. Much like the U.N." he said, ignoring the comment about the coffee.

"The U.N. and Neo-Troy seem to have similarities then."

"Speaking of...are there any here?"

"Besides the A.A.'s, there are two officials."

"You're gonna get hell for them."

"I'm gonna get hell for blasting through the walls of this city, but all we can do now is do what ever we can."

"Good luck," Darton said, standing up, walking behind Ky to the door. Ky opened it up, stepping out into the mid-day sun, looking back at Quint, extending his hand. Darton looked at it for a moment, then back up to Ky. Reluctantly, he raised his hand and shook Kiske's for a moment, then Atlas turned and disappeared down the streets like any resident of Troy would.

Darton stood in the doorway for a moment, then turned back inside, returning to the table for a moment. He sat down, pulling out his knife, unsheathing it and looking over the blade. The memories of home and old times flooded back to him, where he had lived here to block them off...

Zimmerman walked in, still holding a mug and rag in hand, wiping it clean.

"You were listening, huh?" Quint asked, still eyeing over his blade, looking for scratches, familiar dents in it, the curve of it, examining with a mechanic's precision.

"No, not too much."

"Don't let Bianca know. And, he said your coffee was pretty bad also." He said simply, putting the knife back on his hip, and walking out like Ky had minutes before. Zimmerman muttered for a few minutes about the two 'Kishi's that had been in _his_ diner, putting some items away and finally went to his normal business routines.

**_-X- Author's Notes –X-_**  
- Zeronova's Note:  
- Is it me or did this chapter feel very...surreal? Like it was moving in slow motion...that's how it felt to me. The action, dialogue, all of it felt like it was in a dream-like state or stuck in Jell-O. I don't know if that is good or bad, it just felt very different from any chapter I had yet wrote (possibly because I have Quint and Ky meet up again?). But, this is 43...I predict Arc II ends around 53. Keep your fingers crossed.  
**_-X- End Author's Notes –X-_**


	44. Arc 2: A wall of politics

**_-X- Introduction -X-_**_  
- Desolate Gail: Redux  
- Started on: 5-17-2004 / Posted on-: 4-18-2005 / Checked on: Not Applicable  
- By: Zeronova  
- Chapter 44: A wall of politics_

_- _Text: Third person, Narration  
- _Text_: First person, Thoughts  
- **Text**: Interjection, the Narrator**__**

-X- End Introduction -X-

"...there is no conspiracy against you. We came here out of desperation, and out of desperation, we made a decision that cost the lives of seven Troy dwellers, and to that, we apologize, but we cannot take back what has been done, nor can you stand by angrily. We--" Gestahl stopped as soon as he felt the presence of a hand on his shoulder, looking to the side to see Kiske, nodding in affirmation. He stepped back, closing his mouth permanently, and let Ky stand in front.

After the meeting at Zimmerman's, a few soldiers of his told him where to go, following the directions, he found a small building that was unmistakably his destination. Standing out among the camouflaged dilapidation and dull, lower-troy sepia tone that pervaded the entire architecture and people, it was made of metals, all types welded together or nailed to the sides, making the shiny building like an edifice among the other ones that seemed to shirk from the small amount of light the lower city received. On top of the building, in an equally amalgamated font of metals, read Neo-Troy Information Agency. He walked in, finding many of his soldiers standing around, pushing through while getting saluted, to where they all silently pointed or nodded. At the far back, a few hallways trough, he finally found Jaygus as he turned the corner, who led him to the rest of the soldiers.

"I do not know what my colleague here has already told to you, so I'll start from the beginning." he said, looking in front of him, then back to Gestahl and Jaygus. He saw mainly darkness, no wall at the back of the room, only a small light held up by a wire and a domed light bulb inside, grime covering it by years, the bodies shown in dark suits against the yellow light, not showing their concealed faces and voices as deathly as those of the U.N. tribunal he had in Geneva.

"After the Parisian event, which you undoubtedly know about, the Seikishidsn staged an assault on Lyon, where the Gear threat was based out of. We took back control, and peace was maintained for a good few weeks, until they attacked back, and drove us out. We left many there that we couldn't transport, and that we simply couldn't fit. Your MTs here were direct copies of the U.N.'s, so you know they're supposed to hold two hundred, tops. We were pushing four-fifty each MT, maybe more. As we fled, the Gears followed, but they're behind us by...ten hours now. I apologize for the deaths of your citizens, but right now, there's no time for mourning. We requested asylum here, you denied, so we had to get in."

"By destroying our defense meant to keep you and the Gears out? Sounds like U.N. crap to me."

"This is for survival, not politics." Ky spat angrily at the icy cold voices that spoke without care or dignity, only cold calculations. "But, the fact now stands that you need me as much as I need you. Because of what I did, those Gears can get into Troy and destroy it now, so you help me defend your home, and we'll both get out of this alive. You give me command of your soldiers, your resources, and I promise Troy will not fall."

"We will never entrust our safety to an outsider. You submit to our rule."

"Not while I serve God." Kiske responded sharply. "I will not put the service of my men under foreign colors where you'd as soon lead them to death as victory." He waited for a response, but only the held breaths of soldiers and Gestahl behind him prompted him to continue. "I will fight for Troy, to save myself and my men, and that we're on the same side against Gears, yet I also cannot give up my command of my men, because then I am no longer responsible for them or their lives, and I made a promise to never let my men die where I could save them, and under you...you'd surely lead me to death out of spite while formulating differently with your own men."

"It is a shame you said this all to us, Mr. Kiske, for it means nothing to us. We work for the lower level, but now that we have assessed the situation as critical--" a few chuckles by some soldiers behind Ky were heard as that statement bounded to them from the concealed mouths in the darkness that seemed to make the humanity from whatever it enclosed vanish, "--we can now allow you access to the upper city to talk to the true government and make your decision. This is beyond us. If you will follow our guard here, he will show you the way up."

"...You've got to be kidding me." Ky said with a slight whisper. "That...and you ship me off to another council? Do you not realize that there are Gears...thousands, on the way, to slaughter us?" Silence was his only answer. He sighed deeply, then resigned to follow a guard who appeared from the darkness, his pistol in his holster with the red emblazoned Z on the hilt and the normal uniform of a Troy soldier on.

An uneventful elevator ride, situated in the back of the building and under heavy guard, and Ky found himself stepping out, the ramped and dirty air whooshed out as the door opened to find a very different air filling his lungs. It was refreshing, almost intoxicating, the cleanliness and brittleness it had, the slight twinge of moisture and humidity, making the large breath he took of it like his lungs would never fill with the..._better_ air. As he stepped out, escorted by four soldiers, who each had their right hand on their holstered firearm, him standing in the middle, he couldn't help but look off to the side. The ride had seemed like a long time, and he was right in his assumption, considering he was hundreds, maybe even more than a thousand, feet off of the ground, as the spckle heads of people walking below was an astounding sight.

He was on a catwalk, the railings about three or four meters apart from each other, a nice sized walkway, the ground a metal that seemed to have holes lined in it, letting accumulated water drip out down to the floor below. Strung up between the walkways were cables and wires, hooked together by metal wires, but hanging around loosely over his head and draping over the sides, insulated with rubber and connecting one building to the other, for both tension and whatever other technological advance. The small elevator shaft was only an addition to a larger building that fed out into the open. The walkway was about fifty feet long, and once it was traversed, they entered into another building.

The scene was somewhat abrasive to Kiske. He saw men and women in business suits, impeccably dressed, even better than the U.N. officials and Gestahl, close shaven and giving dirty looks to Kiske as they walked by, recognizing his uniform and the guards escorting him. They had briefcases held under their arms and glasses on their faces, examining some important document they were given. Few held little electronic devices they were speaking into, or tapping with their fingers, electronic beeps rising above the clamor of noise and the drawn out electric whirr of the technology.

"Disgusting..." Ky muttered as one of the soldiers behind him, respectively, of course, nudged him to keep walking forward. They cut through the crowd in the one building, and found another walkway to go on, more of these professional looking people walking by on the catwalks. One in case caught Ky's eye; she was standing on the edge, looking out to the entrance gate of the city, even he could see the reversing MTs and his soldiers yelling to the drivers about how to position them. But, seeing the soldiers approach and their boots clanking heavily on the walkway, she adjusted her glasses, and continued walking as if she had done nothing in the first place, keeping her head slowly done as she passed the four red-and-black clothed soldiers.

A few more buildings and catwalks linking the buildings, going up a few stair sets then down some more and around to find their catwalks, all linked by these web-like metal bridges, the hanging wires swaying slightly in the biting breeze up that high and clanking off of them, and Ky finally found a stop. The soldiers walked in around him then dispersed, all four standing behind him and in front of the doorway. He looked back to see their right arms still held on their firearms, but stone faces looking at something in the distance, neither blinking nor flinching. _This place may be the enemy of the U.N., but they share many similarities. Let's see if my method of dealing with the U.N. works here too._

One more glance backward, and a soldier nodding for him to go forward, and he was gone, walking slowly and methodically, every one of his steps pulsing through his body, trying to keep each rhythmically perfect, since he knew he was being watched. The room was dark, and all that existed was one long corridor from the entrance doorway, dimly lit by a bulb every five meters that seemed engineered to make Ky feel exactly as he did, somewhat intimidated and insignificant. _Same old U.N. tactics._

Finally, the long corridor opened up into a small circular pad, railed off on all sides and the edges looking as if the abyss lie below them, dare anyone fall off. Around this one protruding platform was a large enclosing circle of dimly lit faces, the grimy light from above lights dimmed to make sure that it was kept somewhat dark, the feeling of cold exuded from the mysterious seated figures, despite the room being relatively warm. It was one of those places that made your spine shiver without warning. The light did reflect the silk suits and perfectly done ties and collars starched, the shaven and square-cut jaws of the politicians all around him, sitting about thirty from one sides to three in an arc, and three rows of these politicians, with a seat of three in the center, but about ten feet above the rest, sitting in an elevated balcony seat, the occupants having to look down on whoever was standing to be talked to. **The engineering was similar to that of the U.N.'s, if you did not notice. Coincidence? Well, they both try and rule by authority, and try and intimidate and basically instill fear in those who come to talk to them, so why not use the same type of dark and imposing room? **

He looked around the room, unable to identify any of the silhouetted faces, the eyebrows and jutting foreheads casting a slight shadow over their eyes, a slight glint off a few who were wearing spectacles, but largely unable to see. Ky liked being able to look his enemy in the eye, because his soldiers rarely did, by Seikishidan code, of course. But also, the more intangible quality to it...that when you look into their eyes, you can see exactly what they see, their fear, their courage, their distress, their life, or lack there of. Not being able to see the enemy's eyes was a strategic pitfall for Kiske, for he was always able to keep his game face on, even in front of Gears. The id in his head mocked about how he should join the Four Joker's poker game one of these days. He grunted slowly, clearing his throat, looking over the blank faces that hadn't moved an inch.

"I am Ky Kiske of the Seikishidan, the current commander. There is a current situation in which I must request your dire assistance..." Silence. _Must be one of the favorite things here in Troy, silence. Considering they don't talk with the outside world, their radios didn't talk much...but as before, say the right thing on the radio and I got the response._ "The assistance I request is military support. We came here because we were on the run from Gears, and this was the closest place we could get to in time, considering our enemy was tracking us..."

"So, you decided to come to Troy after our radio communications explicitly told you to stay out, and forced your way through our walls, the first time they've ever been breached?" A feeble old voice said from the right side, coughing as he did, but keeping the tone very insulting, as if the person who said it had some pungent smell in his nose to disregard and curse.

"Drastic times call for drastic measures." Ky responded to the icy voice, lingering in the air as the statuesque faces all looked upon him, each eye hidden in the dark like bound dogs to a chain, ripping slowly at their grounded tether until they could break free and run after their pray; or maybe it was Ky's imagination at the silence that entered the room after every sentence that overwhelmed him, waiting for something to happen. "Bottom line, administrators of Troy-" he said, sweeping his arm to the crowd in front "is that you are now forced to make a decision. Your walls have been breached; now the Gears will undoubtedly gain access. Justice does not care whether you're Seikishidan, U.N., or Trojan, his hordes will rip your flesh from bone all the same."

"We wouldn't be in this situation hadn't you destroyed our walls." a voice responded with lethality in his tongue from the left.

"And I wouldn't be here litigating the oncoming attack had you let me in, I'd be litigating peace terms or something of those likes."

"This is another attempt to bash us into open trade and population migration. The U.N. sees us as traitors, that we stand outside your pathetic Gear War, because we were smart...we were the ones who somehow lived through it, never suffering a casualty, and kept our technology, kept our ways, while you...you're barbaric now, destroying whatever obstacle lies in your way with wanton disregard of the lives of those who you may be interfering. Had it occurred to you that seven died in the initial blast? Seven Trojans fell under your MT." the icy voice broke its confines of icicles, emotion and distress leaking into the voice, but its prominence from the center of the room, the balcony above. Ky then concentrated his speech on that balcony over looking him, the three figures standing on it looking down at him, their bodies silhouetted by a light directly above them, outlining their figures but no details to their faces or bodies.

"...I cannot disregard that the acts I perpetrated killed a few innocents. That itself is a thing I will not be able to be forgiven of, and I will make sure of it my administration knows exactly that."

"And the U.N. will congratulate you for their deaths, for finally crumbling the impenetrable walls of Troy. They'll come here, slaughter us all unless we conform to their government, to their armies, and from there, they'll attack Zepp...or Zepp will attack us. Who knows, their agents may even be working now to formulate a strike on us to make sure there would be no way you ever reached their country. Did you know that?" the center voice continued.

"I am not a dog of the U.N., I work for them, as do all of the Seikishidan, but I am far from their lap dog. I serve my men, I serve humans, the ones who cannot fight for themselves, and I represent all who may even. Those in Troy are still humans, and enemies of the Gears, thusly my allies. Do not forsake your own species, your own kind...God made us all, and we are all His children, let there be no separation in us, we must unite to defend ourselves from these inhuman beasts."

"And do you remember Babylon?"

"Babylon was never about to be toppled by creatures with a single thought of our destruction. God would have known that. Had Gears attacked Babylon, he would have let their tongues spoke the same to make sure they could coordinate and defend themselves. Humans are His chosen kind, not Gears, and if you do not help your brothers, then we will die in trying to defend your city, and ourselves…and if we fail, so do you. Lend us your hand, lend us your army, or we lend ourselves to you even...as long as we are united in fighting this single enemy, then God is on our side."

The room echoed his last words, the "on our side" reaching Ky's ears three times at least, with no response from the emotional center speaker. Finally, a little click was heard, a small creak of metal and oil, and the platform slowly started to descend. The railing that wrapped around the pad slowly descended into the mechanical opening floorboard, the figures on board now able to be seen in the silhouetting light, instead of just outlines. A man walked forward from the pad, a dry, metallic click as his steel-soled boot echoed with every step forward. Ky remained calm, not moving, standing straight and erect, as official as he could be, but also not trying to succumb to the overwhelming anxiety he was building.

"Your goal is to survive these days. Whether or not you fight to help Troy or not, your mission is to survive. Yet, you condemn our survival by trying to better your own. What happened to 'helping your neighbor'? I assume you read the scriptures, Mr. Kiske, and you'd know what I meant. You've put us in the Lion's Den with you, and put our lives in danger when you could have stopped, faced your enemy, and left the walls of Troy intact, but you did not." The figure said, the voice breaking from its official monotony into a heartfelt sentiment, no longer arguing politicians but an actual issue with things at stake finally being seen by all who bear witness. Not just by his voice, but that he lowered himself to be on level, stand on the same ground with the imposing enemy that Ky was.

"No, I didn't, and would God's punishment be worse to me that I didn't do everything in my power to save the innocents I had traveling with me, including bashing my MT through the walls of Troy? Would my punishment have been somewhat less had I stopped my load of a thousand people, at least, just barely two hundred soldiers among us, to fight the overwhelming Gears and die, to our very last?"

"You would have spared Troy."

"But not the families of innocents I carried." Ky said vehemently, his voice breaking its authoritative tone and didacticism, from its monotone political and debating tone to an emotional and powerful one, somewhat matching his Trojan counter part. The Trojan chuckled slightly, the middleman of the three obviously the one talking and walked forward into the light. The shaded regions under his brow not were put into light, the figures and shapes of him no longer hidden. Ky smirked slightly, quickly trying to remove the twinge he had at the side of his mouth in fear he saw it.

The man was hardly one, he was older than Ky, but not by many years, possibly two or more, as indicated by his unshaven beard, a five o'clock shadow placing gruff residence on his jaw. He had low cheekbones and a long stretched face, a normal Italian type of face and pale white eyes surrounding his normal, brown irises. He had short brown hair that had been groomed so that it formed a perfect line on the top of his head, a widow's peak groomed out of sight and his sideburns trimmed perfectly, an immaculate political position. His suit also was perfectly pressed and starched, looking new and shining with a dull luster off of the dim lights in the room. He stopped in front of Kiske, about an inch taller, but it was negligible to two powerful people.

"I do what is right for my country."

"I do what is right for my race." Ky responded in a similar and decisive tone. "But now you must decide, Mr.-"

"My name is Sergio LaTorri" he said coldly.

"-Mr. LaTorri, what you will do for your people, and for your race. We are here now, Gears are following, and as you said before, we have given them Troy on a platter. Now, will you fight the enemy?"

"...I do not see any way around the obvious answer, so yes, we have to fight together." he said after a long moment, looking to the darkened faces surrounding the pedestals he now stood on with Kiske. "If you will-" he said after a long moment, waiting to see Ky's reaction, of which there was none. He held out his hand, as if inviting Ky, to the small mechanical circular pedestal he was on. Ky accepted, getting on, the other two supervisors to Mr. LaTorri looking at him as if they were ready to kill him at any moment, and they were, as Ky saw their right hands poised over holsters on their right side. The platform locked the rails back up, and moved back up to its looming position over the rest of the arc of people and the one platform. The jump of it started to move threw Ky off for a second, grabbing the rail for balance. At the top, he was greeted with another such bang and then followed LaTorri off and to the back, the sounds of whispers and murmurs leaving behind him as the room erupted into talk. Of the few words he could discern, it was the name LaTorri, Kiske, and how, why, how dare he, and other things before he was too far from the room.

The two soldiers followed LaTorri and Kiske, about a few steps behind keeping perfect pace. LaTorri walked forward without looking to see if Ky was behind him, his hands locked behind him, his head up and the outside breeze filtering in. They passed through a few doors, Ky noting it was the special entrance for LaTorri, his position being somewhat important to the Troy government, but he didn't ask.

"You're the leader of the outside, I presume." LaTorri said, talking through a set of double doors held open by another set of waiting soldiers, the outside breeze hitting Kiske full instead of the faint scent he had drifting under the doorways into the long hall behind them.

"I am the new leader of the Seikishidan." Ky said.

"Which is the army of the U.N."

"That's a somewhat valid assessment. The U.N. is our ruling body, and we are under their jurisdiction. But, I do not agree with them...it is rare I do." LaTorri walked to the edge of the railing in front of him, a walkway wrapping around to the sides of the building he was in, two long catwalks on either his right or left if one walked ten meters to find it, but he just stood at the railing looking down.

"I was elected to the leading position of Troy by my peers...in Troy, the upper world voted for that council in there, everyone of them. They elected me. I still do not even know why, considering I am only nineteen, most of them pushing forty, at least. What is it they see in a child to lead their country? Then, I saw you. Somehow, I can sympathize with you, considering our ages and burdens. Don't you agree?" he said, looking over the edge. Ky walked forward, standing next to LaTorri, looking out at the city before him as well. The building they were on stood about the same height of all the others around it, taller than some others and shorter than a few as well, a moderate size, leaving bits of the sky open to view, but blocking other parts out, the light falling between the towers to the ground floor in sparse bits. The wires holding up the buildings had a few birds resting on them, flocks just sitting on the tension wires, the electrical wires between catwalks slightly moving in the light wind blowing heavily in the high altitude also catching Ky's eye.

"There are similarities. My power was handed down to me by the last leader. The U.N. has been trying to make me resign or quit, but I will not, not for my troops or for God."

"I like that" he said, turning to Ky and smirking slightly, then turning back out to the city. "You see this...this city. I have been looking out at it all my life from up here, looking over the rails and down to the world below...I've never spoken to those from the bottom, or outsiders. You're the first. I am amazed by you...you're like an alien, as are your kind, but yet, I have been raised with these fears and hatred of you and your kind without any sort of redeeming qualities. Yet, I saw them in there, in front of that committee. They're brutal with most, and they crack them...you stood strong. That's admirable."

"Sergio...if I may call you that" Ky said slowly before continuing, "I do not know anything about Troy or your city. I can tell one thing though...you love your city, and that is important. You care for those who live here, and you are willing to do what it takes to save them. I do not think we have much time to talk...we must decide on something to do and get to it." Ky said, trying to sound calm and friendly without the rushed anxiety he was feeling. He wasn't a rude person, but right now, he just couldn't afford this guy's exposition.

"Hmm, fine. We can continue this conversation another time. Your strategy?" he asked, turning to Kiske.

"I've parked my MTs in front of the open gate now. They'll stop the Gears just by being there, but not by much. I know I will lose the MTs in the process...but it's necessary. My strategy is to put all of my forces in front of the MTs, if we can use them only if we need to retreat. We'll form a barrier in front of the whole with soldiers, and if we need to retreat, we do so behind the MTs. From there, we let the Gears in, once they flood in, we cut them off from behind and flank on the sides as they come in. I also saw your soldiers carry those Zepp guns...we'll need them."

"They're not good when in a real battle."

"Then we must make sure that we have all of those together to use all at once, and do so without wasting any shots."

"And you want control of my soldiers?"

"As soon as possible."

"...I'll see what I can do." Sergio nodded to Ky, turning to a soldier, whispering into his ear, the soldier nodding. "He will take you back down to your soldiers, my men will arrive soon. What should we do with the civilians?"

"Mine or yours?"

"All of them." he said hesitantly, not liking the outsiders, but also knowing that to save only his wouldn't be profitable to his survival either.

"...Move them up to these buildings. They're secure, right?"

"Do you see those?" he said, pointing off into the distance. "Those are tension wires...every building has at least five, and they're nearly impossible to break. They hold us up and make sure we do not fall, even if we lose our base, they'll stand us up. As well as the catwalks linking the buildings network them together for support."

"Then bring all of the ones who you can up here for safety while we fight on the ground."

"Alright, you'll be seeing my men shortly."

"Thank you for your time, Sergio LaTorri." Ky said, extending his hand to the Trojan leader. The other man smiled, shaking Kiske's hand slightly. Kiske then turned, escorted by a soldier to the left to one of the catwalks and down to the ground through a series of corridors and elevators. Sergio stood at the railing for a moment longer, looking out at the waning day.

"It'll be a bloody night for Troy..." he muttered to himself before returning to the chamber of his governmental peers.

**_-X- Author's Notes –X-_**  
- Zeronova's Notes:  
- I kind of feel half-assed about the Trojan government's and this Sergio LaTorri. I needed a character to personify Troy, as well as an upper city government. But, we're getting close to the end of Arc II...this is the finale.  
**_-X- End Author's Notes –X-_**


	45. Arc 2: Façade verse blunt

**_-X- Introduction –X-_**  
_- Desolate Gail: Dual Enmity  
- Started on: 5-17-2004 / Posted on: 4-25-2004 / Checked on: Not Applicable  
- By: Zeronova  
- Chapter 45: Façade verse blunt  
__  
- _Text : Third person, Narration  
- _Text _: First person, Thoughts  
- **Text **: Interjection, the Narrator**_  
_**_  
**-X- End Introduction –X-**_

The sun was starting to set, leaving the last rays to grace Troy before it plummeted into battle. On the next time the sun would shine on it, it'd either shine on victory, or shine on defeat. Either way, the sun was always apathetic; it shined regardless of who won. The winners would look up gladly to the rising sun, claiming it in reverence of their victory, but it was there apathetically, neither caring nor truly rising or shining for everybody, but out of habit. It was a mere coincidence that during its downtime the battles would be waged and upon its rise they'd be decided.

Kiske stood atop one of the two MTs, both lined up parallel to the broken walls, acting as a new barrier, the bumpers about three feet from each other, making a small barricade. He climbed up from the front of the truck, to stand above all so they could hear his voice. A few soldiers offered him help up, which he ignored. He stood atop the MT for a few moments, looking at the soldiers, standing in groups, talking, one group of four sitting and playing cards as usual, then slowly, a whisper shot through the crowd and they all stopped to see Kiske standing up, equally standing and walking to the MTs to look at him. The setting sun was directly behind him, his body covering over bits of it and silhouetting his body like some sort of Messiah, making his presence seem even more powerful. Finally, all the soldiers were crowded near the MT, standing in a group in front of Kiske. He stood silent, looking over the faces. _Not many...three, maybe four hundred, jeez, most of my men stayed behind in Lyon to make sure those civilians got a seat..._

"...Do you all know why I am here?" he asked slightly. There was a murmur through the crowd, but it was more of a rhetorical question. His hands tightened behind his back, stepping to his left, pacing slightly. "I'll tell you. This city behind you, in front of me...is Troy. This is our hated enemy, as bad as the Gears. We've been told they're Black Tech using blasphemers and evil, but they're human. We came here to save the civilians we had in our MTs from Lyon. The spirit of Lyon is destroyed, but we are not. The soldiers, civilians, the deaths of people we had to leave behind...their blood stains the oncoming Gears. We must fight with one enemy to conquer another...the Troy forces will aid us in this battle. We will fight the oncoming Gears, not for only Troy, but for us, for Lyon. Those who died at Lyon shouldn't be forgot and their dust wiped into the urn like the rest of our race, but let us kill those who killed them. Justice cannot continue driving us from our cities and destroying our lives...we must make a stand, stop these Gears, and after this...after we win, we will end this war. It's been a hundred years, we've not been able to defeat or overcome them, and we have to, or else this will never end. We will never stop this running from our cities, we will never be able to stop this fleeing. We must end this war, and I want to lead the end of it."

"I do not want to be driven from my home anymore. I have had no home in my life..." Ky said, trailing off pacing the other way before continuing. "I was an orphan, raised in the Seikishidan training program since I can remember, I never knew my parents. My home was always where ever was safe, which was never constant. We'd load up on an MT with the soldiers every few months and ship off somewhere, never having one home. I'm sick of moving around, unable to hold onto anything in this world. I want to take this dirt, this ground, life, and not be afraid to hold it in my palm and know that on the following eve it might not be mine, but Justice's. This world is ours; God made this world for humanity, not for Gears, but for us. We shall reclaim our land, our lives, from these evils, and we shall not be made to run from it anymore." There was a resounding hurrah and movement through the crowd, a smile and an anxiousness permeating them. Their moods had been lifted and in their eyes held a glint of hope, survival, and the faith of God to lead them to victory, but the rest of their bodies were unfit. They were mentally ready for battle, but their bodies were not. Black rings circled their eyes and cheeks drooped from lack of sleep, food, and an overwhelming fear, their backs were hunched and their bodies looked at the breaking point. Ky took a moment to collect his thoughts before continuing, knowing those faces he liked to see would soon change from battle morale to blankness.

"Enough of the morale raising...I need to get down to business. We only have a few hours until the attack, so I'm going to tell you all how I want this done. I want all of the Seikishidan soldiers twenty yards in front of the MTs. We'll make a wall in front of the MTs. The Gears will attack us, and we are the front line of defense. We opened Troy for attack, so we'll be the first to defend it. In plus, we have our civilians in there as well, so we're not just fighting for our enemy. On top of the MTs will be the Trojan gunners; they'll fire over our heads at the Gears, don't be startled by the bang. Keep your focus on the Gears when you hear them go off. Behind us will be the rest of the Trojans. We fight to keep them out of the city, but if they overpower us, we'll retreat past the MTs, which we will use as a barricade. We'll stand on the inside walls of Troy on each side of the destroyed gate, and let them come in. When enough of them get in, we'll cut off the flow, flank them from the sides and back, and the push them back out past the MTs." He took another sigh, pacing back on top of the MT, each boot step echoing a metallic clank on the roof of the U.N. gift. "Most of you will not live past today, we'll be fighting a huge force and we will be outnumbered, but we must persevere. There is no giving up, because if you give up, you will be killed, so if you must be killed, go out in such a glorious way that even God will have to give you His graces for your deeds. We have a few hours until they are here, so make your rounds but report back here in an hour."

Kiske jumped off of the MT, walking forward through the crowd of Seikishidan, all of them parting as he moved through them, all of their heads snapping up immediately to not look him in the eye as he passed. A grumble passed through them all, walking out past the MTs to their positions, some back into the city to find their family or grab something there, dispersing slightly. Ky walked past four soldiers who walked over to a small boulder after he was done talking, and picked up their cards they left, face down, on the rock continuing, one of them saying "your turn, Jack" as he sat down. A few more steps and Ky was confronted by another man.

"Excuse me, Mr. Kiske, but we are here under orders of Mr. LaTorri to assist you." a short, stocky man who looked like he had seen enough Gears in his times said.

"I need your gunner troops on top of the MTs. Our soldiers will be twenty yards out from the MTs, so make sure they shoot the Gears from far out, and when we engage them, do not shoot the first line of Gears we are tangled with. All of your infantry soldiers we need behind the Seikishidan, lined up all the way to the MTs, since we'll be the first line."

"And you'll be in charge?" the man asked, folding his arms, his soldiers behind him looking at Ky. He had a large ordinance of them behind him, all of them dressed in their black slacks held up by a large black belt, little pockets all over the belt for bullets or whatever other Black Tech materials. They each had different types of shirts on, covered by a black vest that seemed like hardened leather, like their belt, a stitched and red Z on the shoulder, the same Z on their pistols. On their left sides they had a sword, a standard issue one, not as long or big as the Seikishidan, but suitable enough for in close battle, probably cheaply manufactured and a worthless sword, Ky thought, it probably being from Zepp as well. They all had the annoyed type of arrogant look on their faces, a few Seikishidan troops turning to see their leader and all of the soldiers surrounding him, the Trojan soldiers shooting back glances of hatred.

"I'll be fighting on the front lines with my men. My men know my voice, if I give them an order, they'll follow it."

"What if you fall?"

"Then you can assume command. If I do fall, my soldiers will automatically know, and you have control of my soldiers. Until I do fall, give me control of your soldiers."

"...Under the order of Mr. LaTorri, I shall." he said hesitantly.

"We're forming in about an hour, but until then, we need to prepare for battle. Get civilians as far back as we can, and up into the buildings. If they are as strong as LaTorri says, then they'll be safe up there. If we can't fit them, move them to the back of Troy. I want all abled body men to be equipped and out here fighting. I'm putting my MTs up as barricades just in case, so we all have to make sacrifices here."

"...Fine. You heard the man, elbows and assholes, get to it." he yelled, turning to his soldiers and making a broad sweeping motion with his arm, a gruff voice echoing out over his soldier who all yelled "sir!" in confirmation, saluted, and scurried along, passing through the white coated Seikishidan, their black attire sticking out, whispers of malice and curses between them as they spanned out at the destroyed gate area.

"If I require your assisstance, Mr.-"

"Mr. LaTorri. Vito LaTorri." he responded.

"LaTorri? Like Sergio?"

"He's my little brother." the Italian military man said.

"...That makes sense."

"Even you outsiders can understand what they cannot here on the lower floor."

"But he said that that council elected him."

"They did so with a little bit of my influence."

"You mean coercion."

"Just a means to a solution, Mr. Kiske. Let us take a walk, Mr. Kiske." The man extended his arm and stepped forward, as if to push Ky along, but in a friendly manner. He was used to most people in Troy just going with him anyway, not having to use force, so the arm gesture being only one of habit but not of use, but with Kiske, he had to wait a moment for him to agree.

"Now isn't the time for talking. We've got to prepare." Ky said vehemently. The short and stout man, who looked as if he was one solid muscle, a few scars lining his exposed skin along his wrists and one on his neck, simply chuckled slightly, as if he knew something Kiske didn't.

"Are you truly scared of the oncoming fight? I look at it with optimism. This is the first fight Troy has fought in its history since the fourth wall was constructed, and it's been half a century since then. We deal with minor Gear threats, but we always would just kill them before they could make it up our walls and we used the metal sheeting and sandstone to make sure they couldn't. Troy will not fall, it never has."

"Your men have never experienced battle or Gears, there's no room for optimism."

"I've experienced many Gears and many battles...on every excursion from Troy, I am on board. We've been assaulted before, and I've had to defend the people on our MT while we made it back to Troy, and I have. Against a roaming squad, I killed them all and stand here today." **A roaming squad is just a pack of Gears that run along the plains, looking for anything to kill. There's usually twenty or twenty five in these roaming squads. Justice uses them to keep hold on land he has already taken, like a sentry or security squad.**

"...That is indeed impressive, but we are facing an army, Mr. LaTorri." They walked a few more steps before LaTorri walked to a small alley between stores, motioning for Kiske to follow him.

"Mr. Kiske, do you not notice that I have to be strong in front of my soldiers?" he whispered. His arrogant attitude about the oncoming battle dissipated into harsh reality. "Those Gears will wipe us out...I know that full well, but that's not something I will tell my troops. We'll fight for the glory of Troy or die for it. I've lived in this city, I've basically owned it...the council, my brother, they're figureheads. The real way a city like this is run is by power, pure force. I've been the leader of that force since I was twenty, I've commanded our army and kept the city separated from lower and upper and made our security measures against Gears full proof. Your intrusion here is something I despise you for, but currently, we both have a bigger problem facing us, the Gears, so enough. We will fight as you say, but I do no give a damn about you or your soldiers. If you so much as make an order I don't agree with or make one of my soldiers fight one foot from where I do not want, I will not hesitate to attack you as well as the Gears."

"...Now that civility is gone, I see the true side of Troy." LaTorri spat out of the side of his mouth then returned gaze to Ky.

"We've got to prepare for the fight, Mr. Kiske, you get to your men, I will to mine. Good day." he said in a heavy Italian accent, giving a half-hearted salute and his lip curling in disgust as he walked out of the dark alley he led Ky into and returned to the front of the gate. Ky sighed, realizing that his own steadfast self and unbudging morale got him into more problems than it solved. On the battlefield, he was the perfect person to lead, but for politics, he was terrible, and he knew it. Vito LaTorri at least had the knowledge of when to use a false self for politics and the right impressions, but Ky was always blunt and to the point, within means of being polite, but not to the brink of totally lying and being a different person to appease others or the public.

Ky exited the alley, following LaTorri who quickly mingled with his troops, gave orders, and did his job, the lower city people huddling around them to see these upper city soldiers, at which they were herded up and put through the civilian protocols for the oncoming battles. There was something in the air...that bitter bite that one can feel when they breath in, the stabbing feeling of the jagged air moving into their lungs, they cold and looming sense of something bad, the air that Ky always seemed to breathe in before a large battle. Maybe it was his mind, but he took his deep breath, feeling the spines in his lungs and breathed out refreshed from the reality-ensuring breath, and then walked to his own soldiers, doing as LaTorri had; prepare for battle.

**_-X- Author's Notes –X-_**  
- Zeronova's Notes:  
- Sorry that it's been like 4 chapters since Ky hit Troy, and we still don't have the battle. We have a few more chapter of building up, then the fight, so please wait. This is the end of Arc II, so be patient with me. Sorry for it being so short, I kind of have been way off with the word counts, like 5k off per chapter, so I am trying to even it out. But, this is the suspense before the big bang!  
**_-X- End Author's Notes –X-_**


	46. Arc 2: The pale and the white

**_-X- Introduction -X-_**_  
- Desolate Gail: Redux  
- Started on: 5-17-2004 / Posted on/ Checked on:  
- By: Zeronova  
- Chapter 46: The pale and the white_

_- _Text: Third person, Narration  
- _Text_: First person, Thoughts  
- **Text**: Interjection, the Narrator**__**

-X- End Introduction -X-

"All civilians, repeat, all civilians, please come outside with you, your families and no possessions. Repeat..." A man walked down the streets with a convoy of soldiers behind him, most Zepp outfitted with a few Seikishidan. Most of them were along for the ride, just wanting to see more of Troy, considering they had a little bit of time before they were needed for the fight, and most wanted to see the city that was the enemy of their superiors, at least before they died. Most of the civilians came out at the loud noise, the man's voice amplified through a weird, cone looking contraption that made him sound like thunder. People gathered their families and children and stood on the sides of the streets, watching the soldiers in black slacks and black vests, large red Z's emblazoned on their gear, march down them. As the one in the center who kept reciting the quickly memorized speech by those who had heard him for more than thirty seconds, his followers traced the sides of the crowd, handing out small flyers and sheets of synthetic paper, listing instructions and things to do to get up to the upper city.

A low murmur of confusion ran amok among them. What is this? What's going on? The upper city? Finally! Is it because of those Seikishidan dogs? I hear it's about Gears. This is just one of those precautions, it'll be gone by tomorrow. I won't leave without my stuff, it's been passed down for generations, I won't leave, I'll stay down here even if Gears are coming! The trailing Trojan soldiers, who in turn were followed by a few stray Seikishidan, looked outwardly at the crowd they passed through, the crowd reciprocating the odd look back. One of the pairs of eyes looking out onto the procession of soldiers was Quint Darton.

"This is going to be bad" he said, turning and whispering to Bianca, who had his right hand clutched in hers, and her body leaning on his right side. They watched the soldiers pass, Darton grabbing one of the fliers, reading the directions aloud. "Go east until this block ends, then north for five blocks, and west until you reach the wall...isn't that where we met that guy?"

"Yeah, Rodney. I wonder what he thinks of this."

"All soldiers get weird feelings when Gears come on. I mean-" As if his timing wasn't impeccable through out his entire life on saying something stupid, he had once again proven it. A Seikishidan soldier trailing the Zepp ones stopped in his tracks, halted his wandering eyes from the crowd and concentrated on Darton. Quint got that gut feeling of being watched, looked up, and saw the face.

"Hey Joey, looky here. It's that guy from Paris." said one of the Four Jokers. Three other soldiers caught up to him and looked over at him, squinting for a second then remembering after a little discussion.

"Yeah, the one who was at the bottom and went missing the next day. Guess we know where he went." they chuckled. "Hey, you. Ya, you" they said when Darton nodded. "You're lucky, you missed out on the Lyon campaign."

"Doesn't seem like I did, since you caught up to me anyway." They chuckled and kept on walking.

"Friends of yours?" Bianca asked once they were out of earshot.

"Never seen 'em. I guess it's a Seikishidan thing." he shrugged. He slowly stepped back, Bianca with him, and they took a familiar route back to her apartment, the rush of people, with arms full of possessions and reading the directions in their frenzied sprinting paces, dropping items, turning to pick it up, running another three steps and dropping something else from their bulging mass of items. Quint and Bianca simply walked normally as these few panicked citizens ran around them, a few being as laid back as they were, others still standing in the street and conversing in small huddles.

"So...what are you going to do?" Bianca suddenly decided to ask, her hands in her pockets now, walking next to Darton.

"What do you mean?" he asked blatantly.

"Are you going to fight with your old buddies against the Gears?" Darton had no response, he took in breath and words played across his mind to say, then let out the breath wordless with a sigh, turning to look at Bianca whose penetrating and curious eyes made him look away.

"What would you have me do?" he asked finally.

"I don't want you going. I don't want you to die."

"I'm kind of hard up for that trait." he said with a smirk.

"Don't play with me...I don't want you to be killed. You'll go down there, back to the Seikishidan, fight those Gears, then what? Be killed? If not, your troops will take you back with them, you're still a soldier. And what will Troy do with them or you? They'll surely execute every one of you, assuming you're not slaughtered."

"But would you rather not have me, someone who can fight this and help to win, not fight for victory? What if they could have won with me?"

"One person never wins a battle." she said strongly, looking Darton fiercely in the eyes. His mind instantly raced back to Kliff's purging of Justice from Purgatory and then all the men who died, one by one, in his flight from Floor C to the sky light in Paris months earlier. Sometimes, one man made the difference, other times, it was strength in numbers, not man power, because one man can only do so much.

"Whatever you want, I will do." he said, stopping and turning to Bianca who stopped as he did. His hands rested on her shoulders, lightly rubbing with his thumb, looking at her eyes. "I promised you, right?" She smiled slightly, before falling into him with a hug and teary eyes. He was slightly unprepared, but his hands slowly snaked up her back and held her tightly.

"I just don't want you to die now. I've done too much for you, we've come so far...and now these Seikishidan bastards have come, and they're going to destroy our life. I know I asked you why Troy doesn't help the fight against Gears...and I didn't know why then. I now know why. Because of people like you, when there are people like me, who don't want you to die. We don't want this war here, our people dying, caught up in the battle..."

"But we are, and we have to make this decision" he said lightly, leaning over her and whispering into her ear while pulling back a strand of hair.

"Quint...don't leave me."

"I won't. I'll go up with you. We'll get out of this hell and be up there" he said, looking up the buildings above him, sitting in the twilight, the purple hue of the sky bouncing off and fuzzing the tension wires that became little specs in the horizon as they moved up farther and farther "and we'll watch the battle, I'll be with you, and we'll be safe. Nothing will stop that."

She smiled and looked up at him, Darton smiling back. His smile was consoling, hers was of happiness, his right hand reaching up to wipe a tear from her eye. As he did, she reached up on her toes and kissed Darton. For a few moments they were locked in the passionate moment, the world and problems of the oncoming battle melting for the moment of romance, until Bianca pulled away, blushing slightly.

"Let's go back to your apartment and get what we need, then we'll see Rodney." He said as bravely, yet consoling and with the softness that he hadn't used since Berlin, as he could, for Bianca's sake. She nodded, and they were off.

* * *

"Hurry up, old man, I don't want to have to keep watching after you." Darton said, looking back to Bianca and Zimmerman. They were both walking side by side, Darton up ahead. The crowd of people was bottlenecking ahead of them, the screams of the crowd trying to force their way up onto the platform before anyone else, no patience or courtesy given to the bewildered folk. Darton had noticed a few stagnating faces in homes, watching the exodus o people off of the ground floor to the outer rim and the buildings, not joining them. Mostly, it was old couples and people who had nothing to fear, not even death, and the skeptics who thought the Gear attack on the horizon would blow over.

Darton had on an old type of overcoat, not unlike a Seikishidan one, but shorter and stockier, his sword tucked underneath on a makeshift strap he had strung through a belt loop, and his knife tucked securely under his belt. Every step he took, he could feel it sway and push into his gut, and somehow, it was reassuring and made him smile, knowing he finally had it back. But, he couldn't not think what it represented...the return of his knife also went hand in hand with the Seikishidan's presence, Troy's vulnerability, and inevitable death of many innocent people.

Bianca was behind, a small satchel over her shoulder and Zimmerman toting a makeshift crate of goods. He was surprisingly strong for being so rotund and small, but underlying of the old exterior was a compact solid muscle of a body that he rarely used.

"We're never going to get that up." Darton mused to Zimmerman who shot him a glance that could only be translated as "shut up". "What's in there anyway?"

"Sentiments, things from my shop, my life." He said, pulling on it again as he walked doggedly, a step forward then a tug on the crate, Bianca slightly helping him.

"Well, we've got to get on soon, let's move." Darton said, pushing forward, grabbing Bianca's hand as he did to tug her along through the sea of people screaming and yelling for the next spot when the elevator came back down.

"Rodney!" Bianca screamed over the roar of the crowd and screams, and the head of the Trojan soldier popped up at hearing it. Soon, he saw the face through the armpits and slight gaps in the people in front of him, parting them with his own hands for Bianca to finally get through with Darton and Zimmerman.

"Good to see you made it." he said with a smile, his frazzled red hair and freckled face reassuring her. "I'll get you on the next."

"Thanks," she muttered, giving him a friendly hug.

"You'll be coming back down tomorrow, honestly. This is all a bunch of crap." He said courageously, as if he bought into the bullshit notion that the Gears weren't coming and they weren't a threat, that this whole evacuation was out of hand.

"I doubt it" Darton chimed in.

"Well, we'll see at dawn, right?" he said smiling as the lift slammed back down on the ground. The normal soft and precise way the pad was operated, the four wires on each apex of the panel twisting up into a single wire on the crane on the outer rim, moved with ferocity. Darton jumped on board, helping Zimmerman get his trunk on, and then Bianca, along with twenty other people that swarmed on like locusts. The packed ride up, and they got off on the outer rim. It was as hectic as the streets were, people running back and forth with families or loved ones behind them, screaming and yelling.

"Are we staying on the rim or going up?" Darton asked as they got off, and the sheet of paper he had earlier denoted they were headed for a building. A short walk later, they found themselves headed up a ramp to the upper city. **From the outer rim, there were a lot of ramps upward, all usually guarded so that none of the lower city folk who got to the outer rim could get up the upper. It was kind of like a big wall, and once up on the wall, a lot of ramps running up further into the innards of the buildings, forking off and winding around for many different paths. Airborne walkways, suspended by wires, cables, and grounded on the walls, between buildings, and reinforced all through out. All weather metal grating with holes in it let it not be affected by rust, and it had been secured so that massive gusts wouldn't tear them out, or subsequently the buildings they were affixed to.**

"Wow, finally up here..." Bianca said, looking down at the lower city. They were a good two hundred feet off the ground at least, and increasing as they went up into the behemoth buildings. The people walked along the ramps, then split off by their directions and a few forceful soldiers directing them, separating the wealthy and upper city dwellers to nice confines where the lower city were stuffed into buildings with each other, sometimes claustrophobic inducing cramped floors. That's where Bianca, Quint, and Zimmerman ended up.

"And we're going to be in here for how long?" he asked sarcastically, looking around at the hundreds of people locked into the small building floor they were in. There were two exits, both exits having large walkways attached to other buildings on them and an upper level, but no stairs went there, only the people in suits walking above them, able to look off at the mass of dirty people hobbled together on that floor of the building.

Quint finally sat down on Zimmerman's chest as the owner of said chest was forcing his way through people and trying to find a good place to sit himself, forgetting the chest was good enough. As soon as Darton sat, Bianca did, and all space was used, to Zimmerman's grumbling. He sighed, putting his head over his clenched hands, Bianca's hand finding its way onto his shoulder blades. He looked over at her, a slight smile lingering on her lips.

"Always smiling..." he muttered.

"For you, anything, Quint." she said with a slight laugh.

Elsewhere in the confined room, Zimmerman bashed his short figure through people, as if looking for a needle in a haystack, which isn't a far off assumption. He pried two people apart with large calloused hands, turned sideways and tried forcing his way in-between people who wouldn't move, to the curses of them and Zimmerman yelling back another such curse. He tried sitting into a corner that he assumed was just covered in trash or clothes, when a resounding voice hit him.

"What was that fir, ya lousy bastar'!" the voice shouted at him. Zimmerman turned to yell some profanity at him, then noticed his attire. He was hiding under a heap of clothes and trash in the corner of the room, almost surrounded by the backs of people who seemed not to notice or care he was there and isolating him, but Zimmerman had stumbled upon him now. He was wearing a full Seikishidan uniform, complete in all regalia, trim and tidy. Under one arm, he had grasped a small notebook, the wire holding the pages together slightly rusted and the pages warped and yellow with time, but he also had a pen in the other hand, clutching the book for dear life.

"The hell you doing here, 'Kishi'?" he asked gruffly.

"I...don't want to fight, I'm not a fighter." he said feebly, gathering his makeshift hiding spot again before Zimmerman destroyed it.

"You're not a fighter? Hell, how did you even get up here away from your troops?"

"I'm just here to survive, please don't make a scene." The man was a stickly fellow, not very masculine and seemed like his skin barely fit onto his bones with lack of muscle. His voice was instantly annoying and high pitched, and he was always squinting to see something. "My name is Hudson...please, don't tell the soldiers." he said, pleading.

"I don't need any of your crap, 'Kishi', and I don't trust you neither to be up here with me. Ye'd stab me as soon as a Gear would."

"No, please...here." he said, holding out the notebook to Zimmerman. "I don't want to fight, take it, I don't care, just don't make me go down to the bottom floor..." Zimmerman eyed him for a moment, an instantaneous sentiment struck inside him, from where, God knows, but he had a twang of emotion in him. Exactly why he had hated the Seikishidan was obvious, but seeing more soldiers like Darton and now this Hudson had to have had some impact on him, despite his unwillingness to show it. He snatched the notebook with antipathy and a scorn to the thanks of Hudson, then walked back to Darton, finding his chest's sitting area taken.

"Found a buddy of yours in here." he said disdainfully.

"A Seikishidan?"

"Yeah, damn kid's a pussy, gave me this to make sure no one would find him."

"And that is?" Darton asked simply.

"...It's some paper and a pen."

"Anything written in it?" Zimmerman flipped through the pages of the notebook, reading.

"Some, not much though, only a little bit."

"By that guy?" Zimmerman grunted, flipping through the pages, looking for a name, then his eyes widened, reading over something three times. He looked up at Darton genuinely surprised.

"...No, Ky Kiske."

* * *

The night was dark enough to the point of not being able to see one's hand in front of their face, yet it felt familiar. You couldn't see the hand, but you knew it was there…while the darkness embraced and hid the fact it existed, it also embraced its existence and gave you the feeling you knew it was there, it was comforting. The atmosphere was hardly that of a battle…it was more wrapping and consoling than that of what would end up being bloody.

A few pyres lit up the darkness, the light seeming swallowed up by the demons lurking in the shadows. The metal poles, with a structured wire basket holding small embers and burning pieces, were stabbed into the ground every twenty feet from one side of the broken gate to the other, with more pyres on the tops of the walls and the artificial gold rained down from the buildings above silhouetting the backs of the heads of the soldiers who bravely stood, looking into the darkness.

They had already been there a good hour, sitting firm under the dancing fire and unmoving light. The two MTs had been driven into place behind them, acting as a makeshift gate to the broken rubble littering around the now destroyed gate. The civilians had helped to clear the rubble out of the way of the MTs and instead stacked it in the spots where they were not, like a dam for the imminent flood of Gears, but a few large immovable pieces still littered the landscape, including the one destroyed MT lodged firmly into the support ruts of a building.

On top of the two Seikishidan MTs, as per plan, stood the Troy elite, Zeppian pistols in hand with extended grips on them that reached back to hold in their armpit, steadying their shot and increasing the length of the pistol two-hundred-percent. But, the pistols were in their holster, the extended grips on the other side of the belt, waiting to be snapped onto it and the pistol grasped. The Zepp soldiers were standing on top of the MTs metal frame, every step they took echoing out, a few smoking cigarettes and laughing at some joke, uncaring of the battle that was coming, especially with their disregard of their weapon, which would have been a strategical element, by Kiske's estimation.

The Seikishidan troops weren't as laid back though; under Ky's direct supervision, standing somewhere in the blockade of white-clad bodies, he was ready, with his sword in his hands. The soldiers around him hadn't moved at all, they all had their swords in hand. They weren't poised for battle, the tips of swords dug into the ground, but their hands were securely on their weapons, and Ky would constantly walk through the ranks, looking each eye as he went. The soldiers only looked back at him with stone resolve, for the oncoming fight, not looking above his head, but it was somehow right.

The previously mentioned atmosphere had somewhat clamed their nerves. Like a man who has reserved his life to the hangman, they had the look of determination. They might die tonight…but they weren't just going to lie down and die. The embrace of the darkness seemed warming and comforting, but they wouldn't allow themselves that comfort until they were truly ready. It indeed was alluring to be in that tight enrapturement of the darkness, to let the worries of the world, oncoming Gears, a war and death…just slip by. But, that would be later. They would eventually get there and enjoy that solace, but only after the battle, which would snare it from them and lie them down, then would they finally enjoy the darkness.

It was an odd sort of depiction of their emotions. Some had slight smiles on their faces, and the sigh of dedication and determined conviction that this was it. They weren't afraid to die, and almost ready for death, but they knew the job before them had to be done. The sort of…happiness for the upcoming battle and the ensuing death was something Ky had never seen. He couldn't quite place how he could feel it…understand it. One soldier in particular, an older man, his balding head exposing some wily combed over hair, sighed in deeply, then let it out in a somewhat content fashion, looking out into the pitch black, a slight smirk curling on his left lip, as if he was happy that finally…he'd be able to die tonight, or to fight for his death.

Not one soldier of Kiske's felt afraid, felt fear of the Gears…this euphoric feeling had passed over all of them somehow, with some unknown disease or virus that had infected them all. Even the Four Jokers, standing in the back with their deck of cards, had one hand on their swords, one on their cards, and were standing in a somewhat circle, but still in line. They too were ready for battle and keeping to what they were ordered to, and doping their card game, as per usual.

_Three of hearts…will luck be gambled on our side tonight, or does everyone get dealt a bad hand eventually?_ Ky couldn't keep from the biting cynicism, since it was all he could muster at the feeling of the Seikishidan and then the Four Jokers. Suddenly, he snapped his head outward, into the darkness.

A faint wind rippled along the stagnant darkness, carrying with it a small hint of a voice. The voice was a harmonic lull, like a siren's voice to Odysseus' sailors, but it caught all of them at once. The cards were stopped from being dealt, smoking laughter was halted, swords were slowly dug from the ground, tips leveled to the darkness. The hymn grew louder with each passing second, Kiske finally moving after it had durated for about ten total seconds, then moved to the front of his troops.

He stood out in the front of the troops, all breathless and now looking forward, swords raised to attack position. A few whispered in questioning and others shushed them quickly, the few Trojan soldiers laughing at their superstition and making some wisecracks at the white-robed holy army. Then, the wind carried the faint womanly voice, twanged with a duality in it that was undeniably overlapping with every syllable, rise in tone, they were synonymous to perfection. The whispering lull sent shivers down Kiske's spine, until the shrill French-Italian wind bore the words of the seducing lull.

"Les éléments ainsi mélangés dans lui que la nature pourrait se lever et indiquer à tout le monde, ceci étaient un homme. Mais... vous n'êtes aucun homme, garçon. Sentez la mort, regard à l'abattu innocent, elle seul est pour vous et vous. Mon père m'a abandonné pour vous, et je ne laisserai pas que le péché soit tellement facilement effacé. Venez, mon frère, il est temps pour nous de saigner le même sang une fois renversé au-dessus de la saleté de de la terre. C'est pour vous, il est pour vous, le jeune Christ..."

The words came like small stabs, each of the poetic French words enrapturing his senses and making the world around him fade into the black he was looking into, as if he himself was the only person on the planet to hear the words. They trailed off, then began again, bleating and chanting in the same droning, yet melodic way that would seduce one and lure it out to death, not far from the meaning.

Finally, the voice stopped, when it was replaced with a foul stench on the air that had taken place of the shrill voice. The pungent, decaying smell of death…it made noses curl up, it made eyes water, it made you cough and wheeze, anything to get it away from you. But, the scent was normal to these soldiers, they knew it well, it was invigorating to their previous air and atmosphere. Tagging along with the carrion stench was another one…the smell of burnt hair, charred skin, and blackened bone whittled by kerosene.

The scent came from Gears, obviously. They walked in harmony, but they were seen. Generally, the night would have prohibited their being seen, but they weren't without sources of light. They slowly came into range, trooping over a hill in perfect fashion, a long line of Gears in front, all carrying what Prometheus had given, for the sake of being chained to a rock and having his liver eaten every day by a vulture: fire.

Small sticks and pieces of metal held up skulls, the skulls crudely punctured through their handle, or situated through the jaw and up through the eye-socket to keep it lodged on. They had been wrapped in tattered piece of cloth, dipped into oils, and set alight. If the sky weren't black, the smoke would have appeared as dark as the night, but it only melded in, and mixed into the pure midnight to rejoin its luminescent-challenged brethren. A few of the skulls still had piece of skin left on them, dripping off of cheek bones and hanging by faint tatters as they turned black and fell off into ash, piece of hair singeing and flying off in the heat, and other more disgusting bits of gore left on their handheld pyres. Some of them were dripping off pieces of the tattered rags and human entrails onto the arms and hands of the Gears holding, lighting their skin and exposed muscle as well, a few of the Gears with burned hands and one or two fully on fire, but walking on without thought or care, only to eventually fall by biological inability to continue, where a Gear behind picked up the torch and continued on and over the fallen.

The Trojans immediately stopped laughing at the sight of the Gears bearing the torches, their cigarettes falling from haggard lips and puffs of smoke escaping with choked fascination and fear. They fumbled for their pistols out of their holsters, snapping the grips on awkwardly and with jumbling hands, yelling back and forth hurriedly.

"Stop!" Ky said, yelling powerfully, getting all of their attention to freeze their movements. His eyes said everything, and then he turned back to the Gears at front. They all marched on, then immediately stopped a good thousand feet from where Kiske was. The front Gears parted to the sides, without looking back, doing so on command, and letting through their commander.

Testament walked slowly, his feet light across the French rolling hills of wine-country, almost as if he hovered above the ground without touching. **But, that was mostly an illusion, he was just very agile and light-footed…said most.** The Gears stayed in perfect formation, closing the gap when Testament passed them. He continued to slowly walk forward, looking straight ahead with burning red eyes that offset the ominous orange that jumped from one Gear to the next with their pyres of skulls from those who weren't lucky enough to escape Lyon. Ky in turn started to walk forward, his right hand's grip on the Fuuraiken reassuring itself time and time again as his fingers pulsated over it. A few soldiers whispered questions, to which another volley of shut-up slurs were barraged at them from the others.

Ky walked out slowly, looking straight at the pale figure dressed in blackened tattered robes of the Seikishidan. They were watched by their respective armies for a good minute as they walked out equally, to meet their opposing commander. **Almost like the battles of old. They used to have the two kings of the armies that fought ride out beforehand. They'd talk, almost ironically, about how the land was, how the weather was, as if the battle didn't matter. Sometimes, they'd even make wagers, bets, or talk about strategy, or simply go out to meet each other to scorn them and tell them that when they won, their family would be killed painfully. Anyway, the leaders would meet in the middle, talk, then go back and the battle would begin. Wonder why when the leaders went out, one didn't just murder the other right there. That would have been a lot easier.**

"Don't fear, boy…I won't kill you." Testament said in a slightly snakelike manner, the dual voices intertwining in a ghastly voice that always caught the attention of anyone listening. **It had to catch the attention of anyone listening, be it human or Gear. Gears would follow his words, humans would be scared by them, and its hard to miss something that…odd sounding. It was a Gear thing though; all Gears had a dual voice. One voice of their first part, then a second voice of the DNA that was infused into them, sometimes they had eight or nine voices, depending on how many strands were placed into them, and those are just ugly sounding.**

"You couldn't kill me anyway, Tesu."

"A name I've not heard in a long time…" he smirked, letting the words trail. A slight gust blew by them, Testament's robes jumping out to Ky, and Kiske's blowing out behind him, Atlas' back facing his troops and Neo-Troy. "My master…she thinks that you're unworthy." It took Ky a moment to formulate an answer, especially to the pronoun used, but he did nonetheless, but he was cut off before he could. "Do you know that? Do you have any idea, you pathetic human, of the true nature of Justice? Have you any concept of what is planned, how your race is inferior, weak, pitiful, and deserving of the cleansing hand of Justice? Yet, even my master is not without…emotion."

"…Emotion?" Ky said astonished and somewhat angered that a Gear could be using words so vile, when implied to a creature such as Justice. "There is no emotion in the deaths, hundreds of thousands…millions of them caused by the evil of Gears. You say emotion? What emotions have been given by the terrible hand of Justice? Fear, pain, suffering, torment…the loss of love, the loss of life, the loss of friends…you say emotion. I say that you, your race, your master are the ones who are worthless."

"Heh…my master finds you very appealing, Kiske. Ever since that elevator ride back in Paris…Justice has been watching you, slowly and surely, just watching…she's kept an eye on you. You're not Kliff, you'll never be, but maybe that's fine by Justice. Just don't die…"

"Don't die? Justice wants me to live, even through these battles where I am directly targeted to be killed!"

"Ha, boy…you have no concept. Go back to your fucking filthy humans, I'll give you five minutes before the attack beings. Justice isn't without some senses of humility, don't be so arrogant as to insult my master when it comes to those matters. Go."

Ky was disgusted. As he turned, he spat out at Testament's feet, stopping long enough to look into the blazing red eyes and the small scar on his forehead, indicating he was in fact a Gear, the blazing circle with jutting carved lines into the skin that radiated blood that boiled and seemed illuminated under his ravenous hair. Kiske turned around, walking to his soldiers, his back facing Testament and the Gears. Somehow…Ky knew that he could. Generally, turning your back to Testament would mean a scythe through your chest, but Kiske had no such fear of it. Possibly for the history he had with him, or for what Testament had told him…but his action was a very bold one, and he received no death from behind either.

He finally reached his troops, nodding to them all once more.

"We fight here until my call, then we retreat back to cut them off on the inside of the city, remember. LaTorri…" Ky said, finding the face of the man as his name was mentioned, "your men shoot off their rounds when my hand goes down. When they do, they only fire into the distance beyond the Seikishidan, we do not need to lose any human life." The Italian man nodded and barked orders back at his own troops, heavily stepping on the top of the MTs as his words echoed into the night.

"This will be a test of who you are. Whether or not you live…no, don't think that. God will see your life, what you've done, who you were, and that's what matters. Right now, you do what you need to, and let God be the judge of it. Fight for your race, for your fellow soldier standing next to you." Ky turned and faced the Gears, Testament slowly returning to his own, silhouetted by a dancing flame next to him, and the mouth opened wide of the Gear, his own horde rushing forward in a vicious attack, the sound not heard from that far away, drowned out by the heaves of the now active Gears.

"…And the elements so mixed in him that Nature might stand up and say to all the world, this was a man."

**_-X- Author's Notes –X-_  
- **Zeronova's Notes:  
- Well, this one was a bitch to write, and got kind of long. The French part is French for good reason. I mean, French on the wind in a whisper is a lot more creepy than normal, and it has also a bit of hidden meaning in what it says. Go to Google and find a translator, if you wish, but that's for you to figure out. Also, who says the last line is for you to figure out as well. Anyway, the battle of Troy begins!  
**_-X- End Author's Notes –X-_**


	47. Arc 2: Discipline Lost

**_-X- Introduction -X-_**_  
- Desolate Gail: Redux  
- Started on: 5-17-2004 / Posted on: March 28th, 2006 / Checked on: Not Applicable  
- By: Zeronova  
- Chapter 47: Discipline Lost  
_

_- _Text: Third person, Narration  
- _Text_: First person, Thoughts  
- **Text**: Interjection, the Narrator

**_-X- End Introduction -X-_**

The horde attacked on Testament's call for them to do so, his howling voice like a squeal of an animal on the hunt, piercing across the midnight. The moon was nowhere in sight; it had finally faded to new cycle, out of the night sky and hiding amongst the mountains and heavens to not shine down on this battle, for even it knew that the results would be fearsome. For all of the battles which had recently had the presence of the moon, this one didn't, and the silver lunar eyes failed to pierce this skirmish for fear that it too knew the inevitable outcome and hadn't wished to see the ugly death of it all, leaving instead its brethren, the sun, to see the carnage upon day break. Yet, day break was hours away, and the battle just begun. It would remain blind to the heavens until the morning would look upon the ashes.

The Gears were about a thousand meters away on top of the nearest hill, and from that hill's top, a relatively flat plane to the Seikishidan soldiers. Ky stood firm, looking forward as the Gears in front started running haggardly forward, the humanoid brawlers being passed by the more cunning animalistic foes, their bodies blotting out the few torches held by the lumbering two-legged ilk. Kiske took one step forward, then turned to his soldiers, all of them tense and ready, swords pointed forward, but waiting for the signal to attack. Atlas was waiting for the Gears to get close, close enough to be in the light and close enough for the Trojan soldiers to fire off their guns before the Seikishidan got into the guerilla proximity.

But, for all the calm military precision Kiske had planned out and how his soldiers were ready, LaTorri and his men were not. The Seikishidan were silent, the tramples of the Gear feet in the distance becoming louder and louder, their husking breaths ands whines of delight slowly becoming more and more audible as they closed in, the pyres of human skulls held by the large humanoid figures highlighting their brothers as they leaped closer and closer.

The echoes of LaTorri's foot steps offset the Gears oncoming attacks and the inaudible shallow breaths of the Seikishidan. He walked, both hands clasped behind his muscular, but somewhat short, gait, each slam of his boot on the top of the MT like thunder. He walked behind his rows of soldiers, all standing on top of the two massive MTs parked in front of the cratered walls of Neo-Troy. Everyone of the soldiers had their pistols out, the large grips snapped onto the pistol's handle, and snugly secure in their armpit, reaching out with their head leaning over the barrel into the sights.

**But, the Trojans weren't as professional as the Seikishidan. ****I said before that the Trojans hadn't seen much battle, and whatever battle they had seen, it had been fairly small. LaTorri was a hardened man, he was on every excursion from Troy, and he kept order. But, most of the men who joined the Trojan Army were basically…rich kids trying to prove to mom and pop that he could do something in the world and was a big boy. They were just figureheads and wore that black vest with the red Z passionately. Hell, they were wearing Zepp branded regalia and wielding Zepp weapons, if that wasn't enough of a dead giveaway of their military strength and ambition; there was none. I don't even know if this is narration, or me just straight saying it. Trojans aren't soldiers.**

"Steady arms, men…" LaTorri bellowed, walking rhythmically with each boot slap on the ground echoing through the metal of the MT and booming across the fields. He must have had at least a hundred men lined up on the top of each MT, down its length and elevated to shoot the front attack line of Gears. He had three pistols of his own, despite every soldier being issued one. Considering he was brother to the prime council and had him basically elected there, he controlled a lot of power, and three pistols wasn't a bad thing for him to have. He would also just say he picked them up off of some rookie carcasses that were killed some other time when Gears attacked the Trojan MT crews that were set out every so often. He also had the standard issue Trojan sword at his hip, as did every soldier, a mass produced craft-less blade that wasn't strong, durable, or notably sharp.

"LaTorri, have your men fire once the Gears reach the one-fifty-meter marker." Kiske said, looking back.

"You heard the man, do the plan!" He yelled, all of them mumbling a "yes" in some way. The one-fifty-meter marker, as Kiske put it, was from where the line was laid. Before battle, a few soldiers had placed a few boulders out at roughly one-hundred-and-fifty meters, to stop the flow of Gears, trip them up, give a good estimate. Initially, the soldiers walked around and saw some debris that far out, then were ordered by some low level sergeant to stack rocks in a line there, and so became the one-fifty-meter mark.

The only problem was that shots rang out well before the one-fifty.

LaTorri walked patiently, the mumbles and skitters of his own men embarrassing when Kiske's own vermin, the U.N. dogs from the outside world who would destroy Troy, as he saw them, were merciless and listened to orders. The Trojan Army was pathetic, its soldiers had never seen true combat, and knew nothing of discipline. Some of them whined, crying slightly, the thoughts of Gears and the oncoming battle too much for them, the scent of urine even drifting to LaTorri's nose. Their guns fumbled in their hands, sweaty palms letting the weapons slip and the soldiers aim jumping all about, unable to stand still.

A few soldiers turned around, dropping their weapons, and jumped off of the MT, running into the confines of the city and the darkness, too afraid to fight.

"If you are going to be a coward, then I'll shoot you myself!" LaTorri bellowed, firing off three shots in back of him after picking up the dropped pistol of a fleeing soldier, said soldier then falling face first into the street with a single shot in his back, and two others suffering the same fate.

"Wait for the one-fifty…" he said again, his deep voice not even needing to bellow to be heard definitively and clearly.

A soldier on the far right shot off his weapon, eyes widening at the realization he accidentally fired, looking at LaTorri, who plodded over to him to rebuke him when another scared soldier fired. "Not yet! Wait!" LaTorri yelled, but there was no stopping it. The line of soldiers started firing off their guns rapidly, ejecting shells making soft _tinks_ as they hit the MTs metal top and then bounced off into the soft ground some ten feet below. LaTorri tried yelling a cease fire, but his voice was drowned out over the thunderous boom of over a hundred pistols firing off round after round into the darkness.

The Seikishidan soldiers didn't move at all, the orange glows of the weapons lighting up the field in front of them, but not piercing the darkness. The Trojan soldiers kept firing off, bullet after bullet, despite their leader yelling at them to stop, their targets too far off to even see, much less accurately hit. The shooting lasted for about fifteen straight seconds, the ringing of the thunder caused by them left in everyone's ears, but then no sound…none. The heavy breathing of the Trojans were left as they whimpered, clicking the triggers of their weapons as no more bullets would fire, then dropping the worthless handgun into the darkness, looking off into the darkened field.

A slight mocking laugh floated on the wind, undoubtedly it was Testament. Kiske whipped his head around, looking at LaTrri who was just as angered as the Seikishidan Commander was.

"You fool!" he shouted out.

"It's these damn kids, they don't know how to do a damn thing if it slapped them in the face! You all deserve your deaths for this bullshit!" LaTorri screamed. "Look now, you need to reload your gun!" A few questions barraged him, to which he shut up quickly by punching the person in question who dared to open their mouths, said person falling off the MT and landing on the ground awkwardly. "Press this button, the clip drops, grab another from the belt, put it in, push the slide lock down, and you're ready!" he said, holding up his own gun. They had never been shown this, or if they had, they'd forgot it.

Jaygus could only mutter at the pure stupidity of the Trojans…how their soldiers were unable to even follow orders or use their own weapons, the battle-frightened fools and idiots of which would waste the _only_ strategic element the Seikishidan had on the Gears now. The Trojans fumbled around with their clips, trying to follow orders, dropping pieces or their guns altogether, fear overcoming them.

The trampling continued, the Gears edging their way further and further towards the humans, the cackling growing louder from Testament's foul lungs. The one-fifty-meter marker was hit about thirty seconds later, the slight orange glow from the lined pyres in front of the MTs and the casting huge fires atop the Trojan walls, stacked with whatever things one could find to help the soldiers, gave the Gears their moment to draw themselves from the darkness and formulate a physicality besides from the chilling melody of their rasping voices.

The galloping animal like ones came first, stumbling slightly over the small boulders, a few tripping and rolling, then getting right back up to sprint, others just leaping over the boulders all together.

"Have your men fire at the one-fifty, there are a lot more coming, and make sure they don't hit us!" Kiske yelled at LaTorri, who acknowledged him with a nod, but was too busy yelling at how to reload a weapon to too many scared-shitless Trojans. "Charge!" Kiske yelled, pointing his sword forward at the enemy, and the white coats all lancing backward as their occupants moved forward, the inertia of the wind billowing the capes out behind them. A good amount of people passed Kiske as he pointed forward for them, but he joined the sprint a few seconds after, mixing in with the rest of them, only discernable by the faint blue glow of his sword.

The two forces hit each other like an MT hitting the wall of Troy, or a ton of bricks, if you'd prefer to spare the pun. The animalistic Gears made quick work of the frontline of soldiers, quickly leaping on top of them and ripping them to pieces or using their agility to take out the sprinting soldiers. Once the two forces were knee deep in each other though, the battle started to even out.

There were probably around three hundred Seikishidan soldiers that had made it to Troy on the MTs, the rest of them were left in Lyon, the stains of comrade's blood still lining weapons and flesh of the Gears being fought now. The MTs, in total, had ferried about twelve-hundred people to Troy, which is what six MTs would have been able to carry, and they'd still be jam packed. And, of that twelve, only three was Seikishidan, making the other nine hundred civilian and still, so many were left at Lyon. Kiske could only think of the stupidity of the U.N. to try and colonize the city as soon as they had, because it only left more to be killed. Not to mention three hundred able bodied fighters was hardly enough to quell the innumerable amount of Gears.

Kiske never had the time to estimate how many Gears it took Justice to take over Lyon a few nights ago, nor the amount that now attacked him, but it wouldn't be foolish to assume it was more than he had. The darkness also didn't help to see the numbers.

Rivarez was at the front of the charge, ready and able for combat. He was raised to fight, and lived for the Seikishidan, this was the very reason he was alive. His Spanish ancestry was bred for this type of close combat, from conquistadors to bullfighters. His position of being a first-class sergeant wasn't for show either, as he was used to slaying Gears, listening to authority, and being a great soldier.

He had been centered on one leaping Gear, running straight for it, looking into the blood red eyes, and it back at him. When he was close enough, he knew it was leaping for him, aiming for him. He jumped up slightly, only a few inches off of the ground, but enough so that when he sliced vertically, his sword hit the blunt top of the Gear's skull, cutting into the thick bone, and stopping its forward momentum, knocking it straight to the ground. But, its momentum was transferred to Rivarez, who was knocked back a few feet, falling on his back as well. The Gear stood, snorting, obviously descended from some form of horse, its flat head and long body with spindly legs, but yet almost standing up straight, to give it a hunch-backed complexion. Rivarez's blade was lodged on the flat of its head.

The Gear reached up, ripping out the human implement with a loud growl, then ran forward at Rivarez, who quickly stood and dodged the enemy, as his ancestors would have had him do it, had he been in La Corrida. The enemy turned a few meters back, turning to charge Rivarez again, this time using one arm outstretched to sweep him, but after his first dodge, he was already running for the discarded weapon. Scooping it into his hand and slicing behind him in one fluid motion, he caught the charging Gear in the sternum as it tried to overpower him, instead its own rushing body ripping through the blade held tight in Rivarez's grip as it flung through and off the blade, dying a few feet away and Rivarez wiping splatters of its goop-like blood from his face, a smile parting his lips, then turning to grab another enemy and begin the dance of death once again.

Jaygus, on the other hand, was slower into the battle. He was passed up by more of the youthful few, and found himself facing off a rather large Gear. A younger private to his left had sprinted ahead, landing a few successful slashes and stabs on the Gear before it had crushed the boy's chest in with one large downward punch, leaving the body gurgling for blood, from his punctured lungs, heart, and other organs, caused by the bending inward and snapped ribcage. The foe was nimble, despite its nine-foot tall height and hasd an extremely large chest, the muscle tight and firmly stiff enough that the skin around it even had been exposed and ripped away to reveal the pink fibers of the strong chest.

It roared at its kill, then turned to Jaygus, who ran in front of it, stabbing it twice with two quick in-and-out stabs, readying for a third, when the Gear swiped horizontally with its burly fist. The wounds looked like small finger size holes on its muscular torso, bleeding nothing and not hindering the beast any. Two other soldiers started to battle it, jumping around its blows and cutting an arm that tried to punch them or jumping back from a swipe. Jaygus stood slowly, coughing from the tremendous force of the hit, running again to the foe, which had turned slightly in its quarrel with the other two soldiers. Seizing the moment, he jumped up and on top of the Gear's back, feeling the squishy skin and disgusting rot under his finger as he ripped his way up its back, pieces of skin dropping off from his prying fingers. Eventually, he was situated near its upper extremities, and brought his sword to its neck, twisting and holding tight as he dropped down to the ground. The blade dug into the soft flesh, the force of Jaygus' drop off the flailing Gear ripping successfully through the side of the neck, severing its spinal cord. The massive enemy dropped like a stone, a loud, thundering _plunk_ as the ground gave way under him, leaving a mark and those around it finding footing.

But, in the corner of every soldier's eye was Kiske. The blue flashes and echoes of dying Gears radiated from him, no other soldier aiding him. The quick blasts of light on the darkened battlefield, lit only by the few oncoming Gears with torches and the pyres behind, the blue flashes every few seconds were what the soldiers fought with, seeing the face of their enemy lit in grizzly pale azure for a moment between swings and blocks, to see those dripping fangs and rotting faces of the enemy in front of them for the brief second was enough to just want to kill it.

Ky had found his own niche in the battle, noticing how Gears would sway their course or their closest human to fight, deviating to come directly at Kiske and Kiske only. He knew Justice had made him the priority to kill, and wasn't going to make it easy for him either, but somehow, he knew he would prevail. Justice didn't want him to die…did that creature see it as sport, as somewhat fun to watch humans struggle? Kiske was the natural enemy, for if he died, morale goes down for all of humanity, they lose their hero, the Seikishidan crumbles, and he held the one weapon specifically designed to kill Gears, so it was no surprise that more Gears swarmed on him than any other soldier.

And yet, he too had a smirk on his face. Unlike Rivarez, who lived for battle, Ky hated it, he didn't like the killing, the death…and yet, he found himself good at it. He was the person right for it, who had to do it, and while he'd never admit it, there was some urge, some primal shot glass he filled and drained consecutively with greater ease than he had with whiskey. A darker side, the more violent side that he would never admit he had, but during battle, it was all too obvious that it existed.

Three Gears converged on him, all three looking like offspring of the same creation, being long and lanky Gears who hunched over with spiny arms and sharp fingers. The first one lunged at him, blocking with his sword, the other two attacking at once, Kiske dodging under their consecutive blows and around the first's arm. They squealed, attacking him again, one quick slice to the right to disarm, literally, one of the Gears, then a stab left to another. Dropping to one knee and avoiding a horizontal swipe, he kicked out the legs of the second Gear, it grasping onto the third to try and stay stable, but both dropping. The first had been killed a bit earlier with his stab, and now the other two were killed under one long arcing slash that covered both of their chests, the electricity running about their bones and ribcages, withering away their organs to ash as the muscles contracted and convulsed.

Two more Gears dropped from the sky, their leaping trajectories nearly missing the chance to skewer Atlas. They turned quickly, attacking as their feet caught the blood-stained dirt. The first tried to bluntly smash Ky directly into the ground, but he side-stepped and then kicked its wrist forcefully, snapping it loose from the hand, the Gear reeling back, eyes rolling in its head to calculate while the second reered and took its place. Swiping quickly, it tried to attack Kiske three times, each swipe being blocked off, then it being sliced across the abdomen, bending over from the muscle convulsions. Kiske stepped back, putting both hands on the hilt, then swung harshly in another horizontal blow, the blade's own force and the following electrical current knocking the Gear into its handless comrade, soaring into the black darkness about ten feet, with a sick thud as the now dead Gear's innards and sharp bones stabbed through its handless brother, skewered by the body of the one who fought next to it.

Before Kiske could attack another, and there were plenty, the sound of gunfire rang out again.

His head snapped behind him, seeing LaTorri point out to the Gear hordes, his men, illuminated by the dancing fires, fumbling and shooting in trembling hands forward. Most had gotten their weapons reloaded and were now shooting off round after round, screaming uncontrollably as their fingers smashed down over and over again on the trigger, closing their eyes as they shot blindly.

The one thing Ky thought as an advantage soon turned worthless, and deadly. A bullet whizzed by Kiske's face, feeling the parting wind brushed onto his cheek, the shot hitting a Gear in front of him, the sagging and sitting blood in its body exploding out like a stone in a still pond over Kiske's relatively white uniform, splatters and dots of the foul beast's life over him, or lack there of. The orange blasts of light that signaled a bullet fired was like a blinding bloom of a flower from Kiske's vantage, turning to see the rows of people atop the MTs, firing blindly into the crowd of Seikishidan and Gears.

The entire front line of Gears was killed, no doubt about it, but they weren't the only ones. Blind shots and foolish men's bullets strayed, piercing Seikishidan soldiers as well. A few men groaned, falling down dead from a bullet in the back of the head or in the chest, grabbing at the splattered wound. Few men were shot through, the bullet passing through human flesh then the Gear in front of the soldier, killing both with one shot. The white robes became laced with holes and blood, exploding all over like a display of red fountains over the battlefield, acting like a crimson marker for anyone around them.

"Stop firing!" Kiske yelled futilely, his words being drowned out by the clash of metal and the boom of the gun fire. "Stop shooting now!" he screamed again, but nothing. Another bullet whizzed by, smashing into the broad side of his sword, which he held at his side. It flew out of his hands and to the ground, five feet in front of him. Atlas turned, seeing the glow fading from the blade once it left his hand, and dove for it, his face smashing into the cold, wet grass, laced with the carcasses of those he killed and dead Seikishidan lying around. He felt the splash of blood as a man fell next to him, gagging on his own liquids as he saw Kiske looking back at him on the ground, then a Gear falling next to him, the blood splattering again amidst the now unheaved earth and mud.

Tracks of Gears' feet, both that of human, animalistic, and amalgam, dug into the ground. Their footprints pooled the blood into the soft dirt, ripping up small roots and weeds with their claws, dampening boots as hard steps kicked up small splashes onto the socks and ankles of those battling. Everytime a man fell, he soon was gurgling, if not already dead, on the mixed fluids of his brothers and his mortal enemy, dipping his head next to a lifeless body that sat in a barrage of uneven ground, pressed with the ferocious leaping of both sides.

Kiske finally grabbed his sword, slicing upward at an oncoming Gear, then another, and another…not stopping or thinking, just killing. He was dirty, mud lining the entire front of his white suit, mixed in with the running and stagnant blood, seeping into the fabric. His hair contained a few clods of dirt, some crimson lingering on his blonde bangs, quickly removed by his jerky movements, flung into the night sky with his perspiration as he whirled his sword around for another blast, seeing the Gears around him explode from the shells hitting them, and similar cries of humans as the volleys of gunfire bowled their way through the soft flesh of anything the unmerciful flying lead would come into contact with.

"They're not going to stop, sir!" Jaygus yelled, slicing through a Gear, then turning his head to Kiske, looking through the Gear that toppled a moment later, connecting their gazes.

"We've got to get out of here or we'll all get killed!" Kiske yelled back, kicking his current Gear in the chest, whirling around with his sword in a long horizontal slash, the lightning brimming off and ensnaring the enemy in its blue fingertips.

"Fall back!" Jaygus shouted to his side. "Fall back to the walls, now!" he said, removing the leg of a rushing Gear that was trying to get past Jaygus and to the rest of the soldiers, but it crumpled down on its non-existent leg, as if it didn't realize it no longer could stand, rolling amongst the dirt for a moment before pushing itself up with its arms, but it then was pierced to the ground with Jaygus' sword through its back. He removed it, then looked to Kiske, blocking a sword to Ky's left, then stabbing the Gear after a delayed moment of opening. Kiske finished off his Gear, and then Jaygus, almost too forcefully for an under-ranking soldier, grabbed Kiske and pulled him along behind him, even though Kiske was still slicing at the hissing enemy that didn't stop coming for him.

It took a moment for Ky to gain footing, but once he did, he was running with Jaygus, periodically turning to blast a shot of electricity at the Gears. The ground exploded in large chunks of grass and foliage, leaping up from the ground in dirt particles and into the nostrils, eyelids, hair, and hands of those who ran by. Jaygus wiped his eyes with the side of his gauntlet, smearing a ball of dirt across his brow that was bliding him. The closer the Seikishidan got as it ran, the more of the enemy could be seen in the fire light, showing off the grotesque features and blood lust, as if such a thing could be physically perceptable. And, the closer the Seikishidan got, the better the Trojan's aim became, but not to say that there was a periodic cry of pain as a white caped person fell backwards into the muck and blood from gun wound, either dead there or in moments when the trampling feet of Gears would pound any semblance of life on the ground to pulp.

The animalistic Gears had been cut down in number from the initial attack, but their numbers were still dwarfing that of the Seikishidan's, now at about two hundred, down a full third. And, at the one-fifty mark, the boulders on the ground started to be kicked around, picked up and tossed ahead into other Gears, the shadowy, but recognizable line being destroyed and dismembered as if it too were a human. The lumbering humanoid Gears had finally made it to the close range of the battlefield to catch up with their speedier animalistic cousins. The construction of the human one-fifty-meter-mark was another show that anything human would be destroyed by Gears, even so simple as a line of rocks. Justice wouldn't let it simply exist.

Ky finally reached the metal of the MT, where his soldiers were gathering up and around, looking at the oncoming flood of Gears in full firelight. The torches had been set about twenty feet apart in front of the MTs, and the ample light from above on the walls of Troy, to illuminate the threats much better than out at the one-fifty, where one had to rely on shadows, sound, and instinct. He touched the frame, then reversed his direction, jumping back out at the Gears. They were a few seconds delayed, but it was enough for Kiske to look over at Jaygus, who breathed in heavily, his jet-black hair with peppered gray in it hanging loosely over his face from its slicked-back position. One thing Ky could note, especially from an Old World standard guy like Jaygus, was that all bets were off. The statured man and respectful soldier had disappeared somewhere when the guns started going off, leaving way for a brutish Jaygus, the Jaygus that would throw his own commanding officer to make him move from getting killed, and the same one that breathed in heavily with frazzled hair over his face like he too was a dead-set Gear for battle.

The bursts of fire behind them added to the orange light, the thundering continuing as shot after shot exploded upon the oncoming flood of Gears, some of them taking three to four shots before they even flinched, the skin and bone splintered, being ripped apart by the bullets, but the Gears not stopping, only continuing their leaping strides forward. The booms of fire mixed with the heavy, whining grunts and dual squeals of the enemy made for a noise that Kiske had never before heard, the sound of so much that he could lose himself in it, between sword clash and gun shot and yell, his mind could go numb, he could fight unhindered, he wouldn't have to think or do anything, he reacted on will and will alone. His fighting side had come out as well, it had no care for right or wrong, especially not for life. It was there to kill.

And it knew that this was definitely going to be a night to remember, but it would be the memory that would haunt him, if he ever would dream again. He'd have to live to be able to go sleep in a bed, and if he did, the yellow glint off of the glistening carapace of the Gears rushing onto him, dropping as they blossomed with the hail of gunfire and sliding to a stop in the dirt, would be there to wake him from his sleep. And, Kiske blamed Justice, for it all. Justice was the reason he had to lean forward and stab that Gear thats knee was just blown out and was barreling towards him, pinning it to the ground, and ripping his sword out as the body crunched in on itself from the current. It was Justice's fault, all of it, and the only Justice he could find was the one that resided in the tip of his blade.


End file.
